THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 

OF  CALIFORNIA 

RIVERSIDE 


THE  SEA-CHARM  OF 
VENICE 


THE  SEA. CHARM 

OF 

VENICE 

BY      ,^ 

STOPFORD  A.  BROOKE 


^ 


NEW  YORK 
E.  P.  BUTTON  AND  CO. 

1907 


pG67y 


All  rights  reserved. 


THE  SEA-CHARM  OF 
VENICE 

WHEN  Attila  came  storming  into  Eu- 
rope, his  conquests  may  be  said  to 
have  given  rise  to  two  great  sea-powers. 
His  rush  on  the  north  along  the  Baltic 
shores  probably  caused  so  much  pressure 
on  the  continental  English,  that  many  of 
them,  all  the  Engle  especially,  left  their 
lands,  found  another  country  in  Britain, 
and  gave  it  the  name  of  England.  It  is 
now,  and  has  been  for  some  centuries,  the 
mistress  of  the  seas,  both  in  commerce  and 
in  war.  But  when  Attila  drove  his  war- 
plough  southward,  he  crossed  the  Alps, 
and  descended  on  the  cities  of  the  plain  be- 
tween Trieste  and  the  Po.  When  he  reached 
B  1 


The  Sea-Charm  of  Venice 

Altinum,  Aquileia,  and  the  other  towns  bor- 
dering on  the  lagoon,  the  Eoman  nobles, 
many  of  whom  might  be  called  merchant- 
princes,  and  their  dependants  fled  to  Tor- 
cello,  to  Kialto,  and  to  other  islands  where, 
before  the  conqueror  came,  they  had  estab- 
lished depots  for  their  trading,  where  the 
fishermen  and  boatmen  were  already  in 
their  pay.  When  the  Goths  followed  the 
invading  track  of  Attila,  the  emigration  of 
the  Roman  inhabitants  of  the  mainland  to 
the  lagoon  continued  year  after  year;  and 
out  of  this  emigrant  flight  grew  Venice,  the 
Queen  of  the  Sea. 

England  was  Teutonic,  Venice  was  Ro- 
man; and  as  in  England  the  Teuton  de- 
stroyed the  influence  of  Rome,  so  the  Teu- 
tonic invasion  of  Italy,  with  all  its  new 
elements,  never  touched  Venice.  The  Gothic 
influence  left  her  uninfluenced.  She  alone 
in  Italy  was  pure  Roman.  The  English 
race  was  mixed  with  the  Celtic  race,  but 
the  Teutonic  elements  prevailed.  But  Venice 
2 


The  Sea-Charm  of  Venice 

was  unmixed.  She  was  always  singularly 
Eoman  right  down  to  the  dreadful  days  of 
her  final  conquest,  so  that  it  may  well  be 
said  that  Manin  was  ultimus  Romanorum. 
In  constitution,  in  laws,  in  traditions,  in  the 
temper  of  her  citizens,  in  manners,  in  her 
greatness,  her  splendour,  even  in  her  un- 
bridled luxury  and  her  decay,  she  was  Eo- 
man to  the  end.  Italy  was  transmuted  by 
the  Goth,  but  not  Venice. 

But  owing  to  her  origin  she  was  Rome  at 
Sea;  and  being  on  the  edge  of  a  sea  which 
naturally  carried  her  war  and  trade  to  the 
East,  she  was  more  of  eastern  than  of 
western  Eome.  Byzantium,  not  the  Italian 
Eome,  was  her  nursing  mother,  and  poured 
into  her  the  milk  of  her  art,  her  commerce, 
and  her  customs.  By  this,  also,  she  re- 
mained outside  of  Italy,  and  her  position, 
anchored  in  the  sea  off  the  Italian  coast,  is, 
as  it  were,  a  symbol  of  her  double  relation 
to  Western  and  Eastern  Eome.  Whatever 
change  took  place  in  her  Eoman  nature  was 

3 


The  Sea-Charm  of  Venice 

made  by  the  spirit  of  the  sea  on  which  she 
had  made  her  home.  Commerce  was  forced 
upon  her,  and  it  was  not  difficult  for  her  to 
take  it  up,  for  the  Eoman  senators  and 
patricians  of  Altinum,  Padua,  Concordia, 
and  Aquileia  who  took  refuge  on  the  islands, 
had  been  traders  before  they  founded  Ven- 
ice, and  only  developed  more  fully  in  Venice 
that  commerce  which  they  had  practised 
on  the  mainland.  Aquileia  had  been  for 
years  before  the  barbaric  invasion  the  em- 
porium of  a  trade  with  Byzantium  and 
the  Danube.  The  trade  was  transferred  to 
Venice.  It  did  not,  then,  arise  in  Venice, 
but  it  was  so  greatly  increased  during  the 
centuries  that  the  new  city  held  the  east 
in  fee.  From  every  port  on  the  Medi- 
terranean, and  from  lands  and  seas  be- 
yond that  inland  lake,  the  trade  of  east 
and  west  poured  into  Venice.  To  protect 
her  commerce  she  became  a  sea-power. 
Her  struggle  for  centuries  with  the  pirates 
formed  her  navy  and  her  seamen,  both 
4 


The  Sea-Charm  of  Venice 

Venetians  and  mercenaries,  into  the  mighty 
instrument  of  naval  war  they  became  when 
the  strife  with  the  pirates  closed  in  victory. 
But  her  captains,  her  senators,  the  great 
dukes  who  led  the  navy  into  battle,  led  it 
for  the  sake  of  her  commerce,  and  were 
themselves,  as  Shakespeare  made  Antonio, 
"  royal  merchants,"  such  as  they  had  been 
of  old  in  Padua,  Altinum,  and  Aquileia; 
and  always  Eomans.  Wherever  then  we 
touch  Venice  we  touch  the  sea  out  of  which 
she  was  born,  by  which  she  was  nursed,  and 
which  when  she  reached  her  full  age,  she 
wedded  and  commanded. 

To  realize  the  origins  of  the  city,  and  this 
sea-spirit  in  her  history  and  her  life,  to 
recall  in  memory  the  centuries  she  lasted, 
and  to  feel  the  sentiment  of  the  splendid 
sorrow,  strife  and  glory  of  the  tale,  it  is 
well  to  row  to  Torcello,  to  climb  to  the 
top  of  the  cathedral  tower,  and  to  look  out 
from  the  low-arched  windows,  north  and 
south,  east  and  west.   The  door  used  always 

5 


The  Sea-Charm  of  Venice 

to  be  open,  and  it  was  easy  to  reach  the 
upper  chamber  among  the  bells.  Thence,  as 
the  voyager  gazes  to  the  north  and  west,  he 
sees  the  high  dim  peaks  of  the  Alpine  chain 
from  whose  passes  the  Hun  and  the  Goth 
descended.  Below  him  stretches  to  the 
sea  the  misty  plain  where  the  cities  of  the 
old  Venetia  lay,  which  Attila  advancing  from 
the  east  gave  up  to  fire  and  to  slaughter, 
which  Theodoric  and  Alboin  afterwards 
ruined  more  completely.  From  these  and 
from  all  the  villages  of  the  plain,  the  Ro- 
man nobles  with  their  dependants  fled  to 
the  islands  of  the  lagoon  which  our  voyager 
sees  spreading  north  and  south  at  his  feet 
for  many  miles  of  blue  and  silver  water. 
Below  the  tower  are  the  deep-grassed  mea- 
dows and  dreary  shores  of  Torcello  which 
the  people  of  Altinum,  a  third  part  of  whom 
took  flight  from  Attila,  covered  as  the 
years  went  on  with  noble  palaces,  streets, 
bridges,  and  gardens.  The  cathedral  they 
built  was  built  with  the  very  marbles  which 
6 


The  Sea-Charm  of  Venice 

had  adorned,  and  the  stones  which  had 
raised,  the  churches  and  houses  of  Altinum. 
Pillars,  capitals,  the  pulpits,  the  chair  of 
the  bishop,  the  marble  screen  of  the  choir, 
the  font,  the  pavement,  belonged  to  their 
church  on  the  land.  They  were  still  Vene- 
tians. As  they  increased,  and  as  the  emi- 
gration from  other  cities  continued,  the 
dwellers  in  the  older  Venetia  colonized  Maz- 
zorbo,  Burano,  Murano,  and  Malamocco. 
The  islands  lie  before  our  eyes  as  we  look 
from  the  southern  windows  of  the  tower. 
And  noblest  of  all,  at  the  end  of  the  long 
slow  curving  line  of  the  deep  channel 
among  the  marshes,  is  Eivo  Alto  on  whose 
islands  the  Venetians  fixed  their  capital  at 
last. 

There,  tremulous  in  the  sea-mist  is  the 
shining  expanse  of  water  before  the  Ducal 
Palace,  and  the  towers  of  the  great  city,  in 
whose  splendour  and  power  ended  the 
misery  and  the  struggle  of  the  flight.  No 
view  makes  a  deeper  impression  on  the  his- 

7 


The  Sea-Charm  of  Venice 

torian.  But  when  that  impression  has  been 
realized,  there  will  steal  into  his  mind,  if 
he  have  with  him  the  spirit  of  imagination, 
another  impression;  one  of  curious  charm, 
a  charm  half  of  nature  and  half  of  human- 
ity, a  charm  not  of  the  land,  but  of  the  sea. 
In  that  charm  there  is  the  breath  of  the 
salt  winds  and  the  life  of  the  dark  blue 
waves  which  beyond  Venice  he  sees  from 
Torcello  breaking  in  flashing  foam  on  the 
Lido  which  defends  the  lagoon  and  shelters 
the  city.  It  is  a  charm  that  rises  to  his 
heart,  not  only  from  the  gay  tossing  of  the 
Adriatic,  but  from  the  quiet,  glittering, 
silver-gray  expanse  of  the  tidal  lagoon  in 
which  the  islands  sleep  like  cattle  on  the 
meadows  of  the  land.  And  of  this  charm 
and  all  it  means  and  has  made  Venice,  I 
shall  attempt  to  write. 

To  write   on  Venice  when   many   have 

written  so  well  on  her;    to  describe  her, 

when   she  has  been   described    from   the 

Angel  that,  so  short  a  time  ago,  watched 

8 


The  Sea-Charm  of  Venice 

over  her  on  the  Campanile  to  the  islands 
on  the  far  lagoon,  seems  almost  an  imper- 
tinence. But  I  have  loved  Venice  for  many 
years,  and  the  record  of  any  individual  im- 
pressions received  from  her  may  have  the 
interest  which  belongs  to  personal  feeling. 
Moreover,  in  this  little  essay  I  shall  limit 
myself  to  one  subject — to  the  charm  and 
the  life  which  are  added  to  Venice  by  the 
presence  of  the  sea,  to  the  influence  which 
the  sea  has  had  on  her  beauty,  on  the  char- 
acter of  her  art,  and  on  the  imagination  of 
those  who  visit  her.  What  influence  the  sea 
had  on  her  history — that  immense  subject 
— does  not  come  within  the  scope  of  this 
essay.  It  is  only  concerned  with  her  beauty, 
her  charm,  as  they  are  bound  up  with  the 
sea;  it  is  not,  save  incidentally,  concerned 
with  her  history. 

In  her  constitution,  in  her  history,  in 
her  people,  in  her  position,  in  her  art,  and 
in  her  sea-power  and  commerce,  Venice, 
among  Italian  towns,  stands  alone.    She 

9 


The  Sea-Charm  of  Venice 

only  is  built,  not  by  the  sea,  but  in  the  sea, 
born  not  on  the  beach  of  ocean,  but  like 
Aphrodite,  from  beneath  her  heart.  It  is 
this  difference  which,  entering  into  all  her 
lesser  charms,  gives  them  their  distinc- 
tion, their  wild,  remote,  and  natural  grace. 
Other  great  towns  belong  to  humanity  and 
art;  even  when  they  are  sea-ports  they  are 
of  the  land,  and  are  the  creation  of  the 
land.  But  Venice,  full  of  her  own  humanity, 
wrought  into  beauty  by  the  art  of  her 
children,  raised  from  the  waves  by  the 
labour  of  those  who  loved  her,  belongs  only 
to  the  sea,  and  seems  to  be  the  creation, 
not  only  of  man,  but  of  great  Nature  her- 
self. Her  streets  are  streams  of  the  sea, 
and  were  planned  by  the  will  of  the  sea. 
The  great  path  which,  curling  like  a  ser- 
pent, divides  her  city;  by  which  her  palaces 
of  business,  pleasure,  and  government  were 
built ;  on  which  her  history  displayed  itself 
for  centuries  in  thanksgiving  or  sorrow,  in 
pomp  or  in  decay ;  is  a  sea-river  ebbing  and 
10 


The  Sea-Charm  of  Venice 

flowing,  and  brings  day  by  day,  into  her 
midst,  the  winds  of  ocean  for  her  life,  the 
fruits  of  ocean  for  her  food,  the  mystery  of 
ocean  for  her  beauty.  This  presence  and 
power  of  the  Hving  sea,  running  through 
Venice  Hke  blood  through  a  man,  makes  her 
distinctive  charm.  It  is  the  charm  of  the 
life  of  Nature  herself,  added  to  the  life  of 
her  art  and  the  life  of  her  humanity. 

There  are  times  when  this  impression  is 
profound.  To  stand  in  the  dawn,  before 
the  city  is  awake,  on  the  quay  of  the 
Schiavoni,  when  the  East  beyond  the  Lido 
is  flushing  like  a  bride,  and  the  morning 
star  grows  dim  above  the  sea,  is  to  forget 
that  the  stones  on  which  we  stand,  the 
palaces  and  churches,  bridges  and  towers, 
were  built  by  man's  wit  or  set  up  for  his 
business  and  his  pleasure.  They  rose,  we 
think,  out  of  the  will  and  creative  passion  of 
the  Sea.  The  sky  and  the  clouds  descended 
to  bestow  on  them  other  light  and  colour 
than  those  of  the  sea ;  the  winds,  in  their 

11 


The  Sea-Charm  of  Venice 

playing,  flung  the  bridges  over  the  channels 
of  the  tide  and  the  sunlight  knit  them  into 
strength ;  but  these  were  only  the  artists 
that  adorned,  it  was  the  sea  that  built,  the 
city. 

Lest  we  should  lose  the  power  of  this  dream, 
we  will  not  watch  the  buildings  grow  solid 
in  the  growing  light,  but  keep  our  eyes  on 
the  broad  expanse  of  the  lagoon,  shimmer- 
ing in  silver-gray  out  to  the  Port  of  Lido, 
where  the  silver  meets  the  leaping  blue  of  the 
Adriatic.  The  whole  water-surface  is  alive, 
though  it  seem  asleep,  with  the  swift  rush- 
ing of  the  tide.  Around  the  angles  of  the 
quay,  over  the  marble  steps,  all  along  the 
smooth  stones  of  the  wall,  up  the  narrow 
canals,  looping  past  the  piles,  swirling 
against  the  boats,  the  musical  water  rip- 
ples; and  in  every  motion,  change,  and 
whirl,  as  in  the  main  movement  of  the 
whole  lagoon,  the  life  of  Nature  in  this  her 
kingdom  of  the  sea,  full  of  force,  pleasure, 
and  joy  in  her  own  loveliness,  is  overwhelm- 
12 


The  Sea- Charm  of  Venice 

ing.  It  masters  the  spirit  of  the  gazer,  and 
he  becomes  himself  part  of  her  sea-passion, 
living  in  the  stream  of  her  sea-being.  There 
is  silence  everywhere.  The  quay  is  de- 
serted, and  if  a  belated  sailor  pass  by,  the 
sound  of  his  footstep  seems  to  mingle  with 
the  crying  of  the  sea  birds  and  the  plash 
of  the  water.  And  in  the  silence,  the  im- 
pression that  Nature  alone  exists,  that  the 
city  is  her  work  and  that  man  is  nothing, 
is  deepened  for  the  moment  into  an  unfor- 
gettable reality. 

A  similar  impression  is  made  on  the  voy- 
ager who  rows  at  the  dead  of  night,  when 
the  sky  is  full  of  stars,  out  into  the  lagoon 
half  way  between  Venice  and  the  Lido.  The 
city,  with  its  scattered  lights,  has  no  clear 
outlines;  it  rises  like  an  exhalation  from 
the  sea.  The  campaniles  are  white  ghosts 
that  appeal  to  the  dark  blue  heavens.  Be- 
low them,  the  crowd  of  buildings  wavers  in 
the  sea-mist  like  a  shaken  curtain.  The 
city,  seen  thus  in  the  tremulous  starlight, 

13 


The  Sea-Charm  of  Venice 

is,  we  think,  a  dream-conception  which,  in 
high  imagination,  the  God  of  the  sea,  rest- 
ing far  below  on  his  couch  of  pearl,  has 
thrown  into  such  form  as  his  wandering 
will  desires.  No  human  art  has  made  its 
wonder. 

Nearer  to  our  eyes  the  islands  lie  out- 
stretched like  sea-creatures,  risen  from  the 
depths  to  behold  the  stars  and  to  rest  from 
their  labours.  The  boats  which  lie  at  anchor 
against  the  tide  do  not  belong  to  man,  but 
are  the  chariots  of  Amphitrite  and  her  crew. 
And  in  the  profound  silence  we  hear  the 
deep  breathing  of  the  sea,  a  marvellous, 
soft,  universal  sound;  and  perceive,  half 
awed  and  half  delighted,  the  rise  and  fall 
of  her  restless  and  pregnant  breast.  And 
then  man  and  his  work  no  longer  fill  the 
voyager's  imagination.  He  is  absorbed  into 
Nature.  The  starry  sky  above,  the  living 
sea  below,  are  all  he  knows;  and  the  sea 
is  the  greatest,  for  it  takes  into  its  depths 
the  trembling  of  every  star,  and  the  white 
14 


The  Sea-Charm  of  Venice 

wavering  of  palace  and  tower,  church  and 
bridge,  and  marble  quay. 

This  impression,  received  in  twilight  or 
at  night,  rules  the  thousand  impressions 
made  in  daylight  by  the  art  and  life  of 
Venice.  The  "  mighty  Being  "  of  the  sea, 
with  its  eternal  mystery,  penetrates  and 
pervades,  and  is  mistress  of  the  humanity 
of  the  city.  The  ancient  life  of  Venice  was  in 
harmony  with  this,  and  what  remains  of 
that  life  is  still  lovely  and  inspiring.  The 
modern  life  of  Venice  tends  day  by  day  to 
be  out  of  tune  with  this,  and  has  violated 
its  beauty  with  amazing  recklessness.  No 
reverence,  no  tenderness  for  the  spirit  of 
the  place  has  prevented  a  hundred  desecra- 
tions, which  might  have  been  avoided  if 
men  had  cared  for  beauty  as  well  as  for 
commerce,  if  the  men  had  even  known  what 
beauty  was,  if  they  had  even  for  an  hour 
realized  the  spirit  of  the  place  or  the  spirit 
of  the  sea. 

In  days  before  the  railway  and  its  bridge 

15 


The  Sea-Charm  of  Venice 

had  done  away  with  the  island  apartness 
of  Venice,  it  seemed  like  a  dream  of  Young 
Eomance  to  drop  through  the  narrow  canal 
from  Mestre  on  the  mainland  and  come 
upon  the  far-spread  shimmer  of  the  silvery 
lagoon;  and,  rowing  slowly,  see,  through 
veils  of  morning  mist,  the  distant  towers, 
walls,  churches,  palaces,  rise  slowly  one 
after  another,  out  of  the  breast  of  the  waters 
— silver  and  rose  and  gold  out  of  sapphire, 
azure,  and  pale  gray — a  jewelled  crown  of 
architecture  on  the  head  of  slumbering 
ocean.  We  forgot  that  fairyland  had  been 
driven  from  the  earth,  and  saw,  or  dreamed 
we  saw,  the  city  of  Morgan  le  Fay,  or  the 
palaces  of  the  Happy  Isles  where  the  Ever- 
young  found  refuge  in  the  sea — so  lovely  and 
so  dim  the  city  climbed  out  of  the  deep. 

That  vision  is  gone,  but  even  now  there 
are  few  visions  more  startling  in  their  charm 
than  that  which  befalls  the  weary  traveller 
when  coming  out  of  the  dark  station  he  finds 
himself  suddenly  upon  the  marble  quay, with 
IG 


The  Sea-Charm  of  Venice 

a  river  of  glittering  water  before  his  eyes, 
fringed  with  churches,  palaces,  and  gardens; 
the  broad  stream  alive  with  black  gondolas, 
shouts  in  his  ears  like  the  shouting  of  sea- 
men ;  and,  lower  in  note  and  cry,  but  heard 
more  distinctly  than  all  other  sounds,  the 
lapping  of  the  water  on  the  steps  of  stone, 
the  rushing  of  the  tide  against  the  boats. 
Midst  all  the  wonders  of  the  city,  this  it  is 
which  first  seizes  on  his  heart.  It  is  the 
first  note  of  the  full  melody  of  charm  which 
the  sea  in  Venice  will  play  upon  his  ima- 
gination for  many  a  happy  day. 

The  waters  that  make  her  unique  are  in 
themselves  beautiful.  Were  they  like  those 
of  many  lagoons,  they  might  be  stagnant, 
and  lose  the  loveliness  of  vital  movement. 
But  they  are  tidal  waters,  and  though  the 
ordinary  tide  does  not  rise  much  more  than 
a  foot  or  two,  yet  its  living  rush  is  great, 
and  passes  twice  a  day  through  the  lagoons 
and  streets  of  Venice.  It  streams  in  at  the 
openings  in  the  lidi,  at  the  ports  of  Mala- 
0  17 


The  Sea-Charm  of  Venice 

mocco,  Chioggia,  Lido  and  Tre  Porti,  with 
the  force  and  swiftness  of  an  impetuous 
river,  and  these  four  water-systems,  in 
their  meetings  and  retreats,  fill  the  lagoon 
with  incessant  movement,  with  clashing, 
swirling,  and  sweeping  currents.  Then,  the 
tide  does  not  always  keep  at  this  low  level. 
When  the  attractions  of  the  sun  and  moon 
combine,  it  rises  higher  and  floods  and 
washes  out  the  canals,  and  when  the  angry 
south,  blowing  fiercely  up  Adria,  has  piled 
up  the  waters  at  the  head  of  the  gulf,  they 
block  in  the  falling  tide.  It  cannot  escape 
from  the  lagoon,  and  it  races  from  the  Pub- 
lic Gardens  to  the  Dogana.  There  it  divides 
to  fill  the  Giudecca  and  the  Grand  Canal 
to  the  height  of  seven  or  eight  feet.  The 
canals  rise,  the  calli  are  flooded  and  the 
squares,  and  the  Piazza  is  a  lake,  and  the 
Piazzetta.  Gondolas  ply  up  to  the  doors  of 
Saint  Mark's  and  to  the  Ducal  Palace.  The 
water  falls  as  swiftly  as  it  rises.  There  is 
no  lack  of  life  in  the  Venetian  lagoon. 
18 


The  Sea-Charm  of  Venice 

Freshness,  incessant  change  and  joy  minis- 
ter to  the  beauty  of  these  waters. 

They  are  of  the  sea,  but  the  temper  of 
the  sea  in  them  is  distinctive.  The  sea,  un- 
circumscribed,  at  the  mercy  of  its  own  wild 
nature,  is  beautiful  or  terrible,  but  it  is  too 
vast,  too  noisy,  too  desirous  of  destruction, 
even  in  calm  too  suggestive  of  anger,  to 
awaken  that  peculiar  charm  in  which  tem- 
perance, quietude,  a  certain  obedience  or 
sacrifice  for  use,  are  always  elements.  But 
Venice  lies  in  a  gentle  sea  which  loves  to 
give  itself  away.  Her  sea  is  guarded  by  long 
banks  of  sand,  pierced  here  and  thereby  those 
openings  through  which  the  tide  arrives. 
Within  these  is  the  wide  lagoon,  lying  in  a 
sheltered  place,  dotted  with  islands  sleeping 
on  silver  sheets  of  shining  water.  And  in  the 
midst  is  the  city  with  all  its  towers.  It  is 
thus  penetrated  and  encompassed  by  the  life 
and  beauty  of  the  sea ;  but  it  is  the  sea  tamed 
to  a  love  of  rest;  made  temperate,  even  in 
furious  wind,  by  the  barriers  its  own  force 

19 


The  Sea-Charm  of  Venice 

has  built  to  shield  its  favoured  daughter; 
keeping  its  natural  freedom  and  love  of 
movement,  but  obedient  to  the  laws  of  help, 
and  sacrificing  its  reckless  and  destroying 
will  in  order  to  do  the  work  that  rivers  do 
for  men;  preserving  thus,  along  with  its 
own  wild  charm,  the  charm  also  of  the  great 
streams  that  bless  the  earth.  The  sea,  then^ 
which  makes  Venice  unique,  has  lost  its 
recklessness  and  terror.  But  it  has  not  lost 
its  beauty.  And  its  beauty  has  become  as 
it  were  spiritual,  for  it  has  subdued  itself 
to  be  more  beautiful  through  service.  It 
was  then  not  only  in  pride,  but  also  in 
gratitude  and  love,  that  the  Doge  wedded 
the  sea,  and  cast  into  her  breast  his  ring, 
and  cried,  "  We  espouse  thee,  sea,  in  token 
of  true  and  perpetual  dominion." 

This  gentle  manner  of  the  sea,  in  its  ser- 
vice through  the  narrow  streets  of  the  city, 
in  the  narrow  lanes  of  the  lagoon,  and  over 
its  shallow  banks,  forced  the  boat  the  Vene- 
tians built  up  into  the  shape  of  the  gon- 
20 


The  Sea-Charm  of  Venice 

dola,  and  compelled  the  mode  of  rowing  it. 
And  both  these,  being  the  work  of  Nature 
as  well  as  of  man,  are  beautiful.  This  long, 
subtly-curved  boat,  with  its  uptossed  stem 
and  stern,  rigid  in  reality,  but  seeming  to 
be  (so  swift  it  is  to  answer  the  slightest 
touch  of  the  oar)  as  lithe  and  undulating  as 
a  serpent,  leaning  somewhat  to  one  side,  so 
that  it  wavers  a  little  as  it  moves  as  if  it 
were  a  wave  of  the  sea,  and  gliding  on  its 
flattened  bottom  over  shallow  waters  in 
silent  speed,  seems  like  some  creature  of 
the  sea  herself.  Coloured  black,  it  is  bright- 
ened with  polished  brass  and  steel.  The 
ferro  da  prova  is  the  beak  of  polished  steel 
which  looks  out  from  the  bows  of  the  boat, 
with  a  blade  at  the  top  like  a  hatchet,  and 
below  it  six  teeth,  like  those  of  the  bone  of 
the  saw-fish.  It  flashes  over  the  water  and 
flashes  in  the  water.  It  is  a  sea-ornament, 
descended  from  the  rostrum  of  a  Roman 
warship.  Then  the  brass  ornaments  of  the 
arm-rests  are  most   frequently  sea- beasts 

21 


The  Sea-Charm  of  Venice 

-^dolphins,  and  the  sea-horses  of  Venice. 
Everywhere  the  boat  has  been  the  child  of 
the  sea. 

Yet  it  is  human ;  it  grew  like  a  child,  a 
youth,  modified  from  year  to  year  into  its 
shape,  its  character,  till  it  reached  its  man- 
hood; absolutely  fitted  for  the  work  it  had 
to  do,  for  the  circumstances  of  the  city 
through  the  narrow  water-ways  of  which  it 
had  to  move,  and  for  the  wants  of  all  classes 
of  its  citizens.  The  circumstances  were 
peculiar;  the  needs  of  the  citizens  were 
most  various.  It  fits  them  all.  The  natural, 
therefore,  and  the  human  mingle  in  it  more 
harmoniously  than  in  any  other  boat.  It 
is  distinctive  as  Venice  is  distinctive ;  it  has 
its  own  sentiment,  its  own  charm;  but  it 
seems  also  to  share  in  the  sentiment  and 
beauty  of  the  sea.  The  cries  of  its  rowers 
are  like  the  cries  of  seamen.  In  its  move- 
ment is  the  softness,  ease,  and  grace  of 
the  subdued  obedient  waters  over  which  it 
glides. 
22 


The  Sea-Charm  of  Venice 

Then  there  is  the  way  of  rowing  it,  on  one 
side,  by  a  single  rower.  When  there  are  two 
rowers  half  the  charm  is  lost.  The  second 
rower  labouring  at  his  oar  in  front  of  the 
sitter  removes  the  pleasant,  psychical  illu- 
sion that  the  boat  moves  by  its  own  will. 
There  is  almost  an  intellectual  pleasure  in 
the  rowing  and  steering  of  a  gondola  by 
the  single  oar  behind.  If  the  gondolier  be 
a  master  of  his  craft,  he  will  make  his  boat 
move  through  a  crowded  canal,  or  glide 
round  the  angles  of  a  narrow  water  lane,  as 
swiftly,  as  softly  as  a  serpent  through  the 
branches  of  a  tree.  He  will  pass  within  an 
inch  of  a  corner  without  touching  it,  as  he 
turns  the  boat  round  within  its  own  length. 
He  will  stop  it  at  full  speed  in  a  few  seconds. 
It  obeys  him  so  magically  that  the  voyager 
in  it,  who  does  not  see  the  rower,  often 
dreams  that  the  boat  moves  of  itself  accord- 
ing to  a  spirit  in  it,  like  the  bark  which  bore 
Ogier  the  Dane,  flying  over  the  sea  by  its 
own  desire,  to  Morgana.   This  beauty  of  the 

23 


The  Sea-Charm  of  Venice 

boat,  its  ways  and  manners,  are  the  result 
of  the  sea-situation,  and  have  the  charm  of 
the  sea. 

Then,  again,  this  strange,  soft  sea,  so 
tempered  into  gentlehood,  brings  through 
its  quietude  another  element  of  charm  into 
Venice.  It  reflects  all  things  with  a  wonder- 
ful perfection.  Whatever  loveliness  is  by  its 
side  it  makes  more  lovely.  Shallow  itself, 
it  seems  deep;  and  the  towers  and  palaces 
of  Venice  in  all  their  colours  descend  and 
shine  among  other  clouds  and  in  another  sky 
below.  All  outlines  of  sculpture  and  archi- 
tecture, of  embossment,  in  wall  and  window; 
all  play  of  sunshine  and  shade ;  all  the 
human  life  in  balcony,  bridge  or  quay,  on 
barge  or  boat,  are  in  the  waters  as  in  a 
silent  dream — revealed  in  every  line  and 
colour,  but  with  an  exquisite  difference  in 
softness  and  purity.  All  Nature's  doings  in 
the  sky  are  also  repeated  with  a  tender  fidelity 
in  the  mirror  of  the  lagoon — morning  light, 
noonday  silver,  purple  thunder  cloud  in  the 
24 


The  Sea-Charm  of  Venice 

afternoon,  sunset  vapours,  the  moon  and 
stars  of  night — and  not  only  on  the  sur- 
face, but  also,  it  seems,  in  an  immeasur- 
able depth.  To  look  over  the  side  of  the 
boat  into  the  water  is  to  cry,  "  I  see  infinite 
space." 

That  is  part  of  this  charm  of  the  reflect- 
ing water.  But  this  only  belongs  to  Nature 
and  the  feeling  her  beauty  awakens.  There 
is  another  charm  in  this  work  of  the  water. 
Whatever  pleasure  the  living  and  varied 
movement  of  a  great  town,  whatever  interest 
its  activities,  bring  to  men,  is  doubled,  so 
far  as  charm  is  concerned,  in  Venice.  For 
they  are  exercised  on  water  as  well  as  on 
land,  and  their  movements  and  methods 
are  different  on  each.  The  sights  of  life  are 
doubly  varied.  The  land  has  its  own  way 
with  them ;  the  water  has  another  way  with 
them. 

Moreover,  the  water  itself,  being  always 
in  motion,  always  reflecting  or  taking 
shadows,  always  harmonizing  itself  with  its 

25 


The  Sea-Charm  of  Venice 

comrades  in  land  or  sky,  always  making  a 
subtle  music  in  answer  to  human  action 
upon  it — adds  these  romantic  and  lovely 
elements  to  the  business  and  pleasure  of 
the  town.  Below,  in  the  water,  the  clumsiest 
barge  is  accompanied  by  its  soft  ideal;  and 
the  lovers,  leaning  over  the  balcony,  see 
their  happiness  smile  on  them  from  the 
water. 

The  same  thing,  some  aver,  may  be  said 
of  a  Dutch  town  full  of  canals.  Partly,  that 
is  true ;  but  the  canals  only  carry  the  heavy 
business  of  these  towns,  and  in  Venice  all 
human  life,  in  its  gaiety  and  beauty  as  well 
as  its  work,  is  on  the  water.  Moreover,  the 
water  itself,  not  half  stagnant  like  the  canals 
of  Holland,  is  always  thrilling  with  its  own 
ebbing  and  flowing,  has  its  own  fine  spirit, 
and  takes,  as  I  have  often  thought,  its  own 
share  and  pleasure  in  all  that  is  done  upon 
it.  Life  answers  there  to  life — living  Nature 
to  living  man. 

Not  apart  from  this  element  of  charm 
26 


The  Sea-Charm  of  Venice 

are  other  forms  of  it.  The  mystery  and 
music  of  moving  water,  the  sense  of  un- 
known depths  and  its  wonder,  the  impres- 
sion of  the  infinite  which  gathers  into  us 
from  the  sea,  are  all  brought  by  the  tides 
in  Venice  into  the  midst  of  a  bustling  city, 
vividly  concerned  with  the  material,  the 
finite,  and  the  practical.  We  feel  the  wonder 
and  secret  of  Nature  playing  round  our 
business.  In  a  moment  we  are  touched 
into  imaginative  worlds.  We  may  pass  with 
ease  from  buying  and  selling  into  poetry, 
from  materialism  into  mystery.  This  has 
its  surprising  charm. 

The  element  of  noiselessness  increases 
this  impression  of  poetic  mystery.  The 
Venetians  themselves  make  noise  enough. 
They  are  a  gay  and  passionate  people  on 
the  surface,  and  their  open-air  life  makes 
them  open  in  speech.  The  air  is  full  of 
shouting,  but  the  rattle  and  shattering  and 
trampling  of  wheels  and  horses  over  stony 
roads  which  wears  out  life  so  rapidly  in 

27 


The  Sea-Charm  of  Venice 

towns  on  land,  is  never  heard  in  Venice. 
And  there  are  numberless  lanes  of  quiet 
water  where  the  crowd  of  gondolas  never 
comes,  and  where  the  only  sound  is  the  wash 
of  water  on  the  stones  and  the  murmur  of  the 
acacias  above  our  head.  The  quiet  sea  has 
stolen  into  the  streets,  and  all  that  is  beauti- 
ful in  their  architecture,  their  history,  and 
their  daily  life,  creeps  into  the  study  of  our 
imagination  with  more  impressive  grace 
because  of  the  peace.  As  to  the  quiet  of 
the  lagoon  it  is  like  the  solemn  quiet  of 
the  desert.  In  ten  minutes  from  the  quay 
we  are  in  the  midst  of  a  silence  deeper  even 
than  that  of  the  lonely  hills.  The  silence 
listens  to  itself,  and  we  can  scarcely  believe 
in  the  turmoil  of  the  world  or  the  battle 
in  our  own  heart.  This  has  its  healing 
charm. 

Then,  also,  the  nearness  and  universal 

presence  of  the  waters  makes  man  more 

alive  to  the  beauty  of  the  few  things  which 

belong  to  the  land  in  Venice.  There  are  no 

28 


The  Sea-Charm  of  Venice 

woods,  no  parks,  no  great  gardens,  no  wealth 
of  foliage  or  grass,  but  what  there  is  of 
flowers  and  trees  and  grassy  spaces  is  more 
lovingly  observed  than  on  the  land.  The 
great  fig  trees  which  drop  their  broad  foliage 
over  the  walls,  the  little  groves  of  soft 
acacia  which  stand  beside  some  of  the 
churches,  the  tiny  plots  of  green  verdure  in 
the  squares,  the  tall  oleanders  ablaze  with 
white  and  ruddy  flowers,  the  climbing  vines 
that  twine  amongst  the  carved  stone  work, 
the  rare  small  gardens  with  their  black 
cypresses,  white  lilies,  golden  fruit;  the 
one  stone  pine  dark  against  the  sky,  the 
scarlet  flash  of  the  pomegranate,  the  tum- 
bled wealth  of  a  single  rose  tree,  might  all 
be  thought  little  of  in  an  Italian  town. 
They  are  common  there  and  multitudinous. 
But  here,  at  Venice,  in  the  midst  of  the 
waters  they  are  strange ;  they  surprise  and 
enchant.  They  are  always  observed ;  all 
their  beauty  is  felt. 

Amid  all  this  water-world,  and  the  human 

29 


The  Sea-Charm  of  Venice 

life  which  uses  it  and  loves  it,  there  is  one 
place  where  it  is  fairest  and  most  used  by 
man.  It  is  the  great  expanse  of  water  at  the 
entrance  of  the  Grand  Canal,  opposite  the 
Ducal  Palace,  in  whose  surface  is  reflected 
the  Campanile  of  San  Giorgio  Maggiore  on 
its  island,  the  dome  of  the  Church  of  Our 
Lady  of  Safety,  and  the  tower  of  the 
Dogana.  From  the  Dogana  runs  out  to  the 
south  the  broad  canal  which  divides  Venice 
from  the  islands  of  the  Giudecca.  In  the 
opposite  direction  the  glittering  surface 
spreads  away  to  the  port  of  the  Lido,  where 
between  the  Lido  and  San  Andrea  the 
lagoon  opens  into  the  main  sea.  On  these 
waters,  in  the  past  and  present,  have  col- 
lected, and  still  collect,  the  ships  and  barks 
that  have  carried  on  the  wars,  the  com- 
merce, and  the  fishing  life  of  Venice. 

I  do   not   describe   the   scene,   but   the 
glancing,  dazzling  water,  the  blue  expanse, 
seem  as  if  they  had  been  designed  by  Na- 
ture to  harmonize  with  the  swiftness  and 
30 


The  Sea-Charm  of  Venice 

dash  of  the  warlike  spirit  and  warwork  of 
ancient  Venice,  with  the  splendour  of  her 
commerce  and  the  merchandise  it  brought, 
with  the  magnificence  of  her  religion  and 
the  dignity  of  her  government,  whose  noblest 
observances  and  pageants  were  displayed 
on  these  shining  waters. 

It  is  one  of  the  enchantments  of  Venice 
that  it  is  so  easy  for  imaginative  knowledge, 
impelled  and  kindled  to  its  work  by  this 
glistening  and  splendid  water- world,  to  re- 
create upon  it  the  vivid  life  of  the  past ;  to 
see  the  long  war-galleys  pass  out  into  the 
Adriatic,  beating  the  water  into  foam ;  to 
watch  the  ships  from  all  the  Orient  dis- 
embark their  costly  goods  and  men  from  the 
tribes  of  the  East  on  the  quays;  to  picture 
the  many  hued  and  stately  processions  from 
the  sea  to  the  palace  of  the  Duke,  from  San 
Marco  to  the  sea.  A  splendid  vision!  A 
little  reading,  some  careful  study  of  the 
pictures  in  the  Accademia,  and  the  voyager 
can  crowd,  as  he  stands  on  the  Piazzetta, 

31 


The  Sea-Charm  of  Venice 

that  gleaming  mirror  of  sea  with  a  hundred 
scenes  of  glory,  beauty,  use  and  charm  in 
war  and  peace. 

Little  now  remains  of  that  wonderful  sea- 
glory,  and  the  beauty  of  its  ships  is  de- 
parted. Some  merchant  boats  lie  stern  to 
stern  along  the  quays  of  the  Giudecca,  black 
and  built  like  boxes.  Steamboats  carrying 
heavy  goods,  now  and  then  a  great  liner, 
scream  and  hiss  in  the  lagoon.  The  war- 
galleys  of  Venice  are  replaced  by  ironclads. 
All  the  outward  romance  of  this  great  sheet 
of  water  is  gone.  It  cannot  be  helped,  and 
we  must  put  our  regret  by,  lest  we  should 
spoil  or  under-rate  the  present;  but  some 
reverence,  some  care  might  be  given  to  the 
memory  of  the  glorious  past,  and  this  scene 
at  least  might  have  been  saved  from  dese- 
cration. It  was  possible  a  few  years  ago  for 
imagination  still  to  create  the  glory  of  the 
past  upon  these  waters;  it  was  only  the 
steamers  that  forced  us  to  remember  the 
present,  and  when  they  did  not  scream  they 
32 


The  Sea-Charm  of  Venice 

were  not  oflfensive.  But  not  long  ago,  and 
right  between  the  Lido  and  the  public 
gardens,  blocking  the  most  beautiful  view 
of  Venice  from  the  Lido,  an  iron  foundry, 
with  tall  chimneys  outpouring  black  smoke, 
was  established  on  the  Island  of  Santa 
Elena.  I  have  already  referred  to  this  con- 
temptuous destruction  of  loveliness.  It  is 
a  miserable  comfort  that  the  foundry  has 
failed.  But  the  mischief  done  is  irreparable. 

One  part,  however,  of  that  past  is  still 
existing  on  Venetian  waters.  The  fishing 
boats — the  Bragozzi — are  much  the  same 
as  they  were  in  the  days  when  the  city  held 
"  the  East  in  fee  and  was  the  safeguard  of 
the  West."  They  carry  us  back  even  to  re- 
moter times  when  only  a  few  huts  had  been 
built  on  the  sandbanks,  and  the  dwellers  in 
the  little  group  of  islands  lived  by  fishing. 
They  have  been  comrades  of  the  whole 
history  of  Venice. 

These  barks  are  still  beautiful,  and  make 
more  beautiful  the  waters  on  which  they  sail. 
D  33 


The  Sea-Charm  of  Venice 

Their  bow  still  keeps  that  noble,  subtle,  and 
audacious  curve  which  every  artist  loves. 
It  is  painted  on  either  side  with  various 
designs  fitted  to  carry  the  eye  forward  with 
the  rush  of  the  boat  through  the  waters — 
angels  blowing  trumpets,  the  virgin  leaning 
forward  in  impassioned  listening — and  these, 
in  many  colours,  glimmer  from  far  on  the 
sight,  and  are  often  seen  shining  in  the 
wave  below.  On  the  dark  sails,  of  which 
there  are  two,  the  sun,  the  stars,  angel 
heads,  St.  George  and  the  Dragon,  St. 
Anthony,  the  Virgin  in  glory,  symbolic  de- 
signs, a  radiant  sun,  geometrical  patterns, 
are  painted  in  orange,  blue  and  pale  sea- 
green  on  the  dark  body  of  the  sail,  which 
is  generally  of  deep  red.  The  orange  is 
most  often  introduced  in  bands  or  patterns 
among  the  red :  and  when  the  fishermen  take 
pleasure  in  their  coloured  patterns,  the  blue, 
green,  and  white  are  added  to  the  orange. 

It  is  a  wonderful  sight  to  see  these  fish- 
ing barks  drawn  up  along  the  great  quay 
34 


The  Sea-Charm  of  Venice 

from  the  public  gardens  to  the  Ducal  Palace, 
with  all  their  sails  hoisted  after  a  stormy 
day,  to  dry  in  the  gay  sunlight.  From  end 
to  end  the  long  line  burns  with  the  colours 
of  which  the  Venetian  painters  were  so 
enamoured.  It  is  as  delightful  to  stand  on 
the  sea-wall  on  the  Lido,  near  the  Church  of 
San  Nicolo  di  Bari,  where  the  lagoon  opens 
into  the  Adriatic,  and  watch  these  barks 
coming  in  from  the  sea,  one  by  one ;  glowing 
in  the  lovely  light,  changing  the  waters  be- 
low into  orange,  red,  and  black,  edged  with 
gold.  Sometimes,  grouped  into  a  mass,  they 
cluster  together  in  the  deep  places  of  the 
canals,  or  lie  in  a  changing  crowd  together 
near  the  mouth  of  the  Piave,  nets,  mast  and 
sails  one  glow  of  shifting  colour.  Some- 
times, when  fine  weather  comes  after  the 
storm  which  has  driven  home  the  whole 
fleet,  they  all  go  out  together,  and  the  whole 
lagoon  seems  full  of  their  glory,  as  push- 
ing through  the  water-lanes,  they  cross  one 
another  and  interweave  a  dance  of  colour 

35 


The  Sea-Charm  of  Venice 

and  of  freedom.  Sometimes,  as  the  sun 
sets,  one  of  them,  anchored  alone,  takes 
into  the  hollow  of  its  sail  the  whole  blaze 
of  the  globe  of  fire  as  it  sinks  over  the 
Euganean  hills. 

These  pictures  are  taken  out  of  the  realm 
of  mere  artistic  pleasure  by  thoughts  of  the 
hard  labour  and  the  rough  struggle  of  the 
fishers'  toil  for  wife  and  children  as  they  sail 
on  stormy  Adria.  Indeed,  they  are  as  full  of 
humanity  as  of  beauty.  They  have  also  the 
charm  of  historical  sentiment.  The  first 
fugitives  to  Rialto  saw  these  barks  much  as 
we  see  them.  The  builders  of  the  city,  its 
early  merchants  and  warriors,  its  voyagers 
and  artists,  the  Dukes  that  fought  the  son 
of  Charles  the  Great,  or  harried  the  nests 
of  the  Dalmatian  pirates,  or  subdued  the 
Orient;  the  ambassadors  who  sued  or  defied 
the  Senate,  visitors  from  every  quarter  of 
the  globe,  the  luxurious  wretches  who  de- 
graded, and  the  cowardly  crew  who  sold, 
Venice ;  the  patriots  who  defended  her ; 
3G 


The  Sea-Charm  of  Venice 

those  who  mourned  under  the  yoke  of 
Austria,  those  who  rejoiced  in  the  great 
deliverance — one  and  all  have  looked  with 
many  a  thought  that  charmed  their  heart 
upon  the  fishing-boats  of  Venice.  With  them 
Venice  began;  by  them  she  has  been  fed 
from  the  beginning  even  until  now.  They 
are  a  vital  part  of  her  sea  charm. 

The  live  lagoon  itself  is  of  endless  interest. 
It  has  quite  a  little  population  of  its  own. 
Boys  and  men,  clothed  only  in  a  loose  shirt, 
and  with  the  glowing  skin  the  sun  and  sea 
create,  move  to  and  fro  over  the  shallow 
spaces  fishing  for  sea-spoil,  sometimes  white 
against  the  purple  arch  of  the  stormy  sky, 
sometimes  like  a  pillar  of  rose  in  the  setting 
sun ;  and  their  slow,  unremitting  labour, 
which  means  for  them  no  more  than  an 
escape  from  starvation,  makes  one  ashamed 
to  think  so  much  of  beauty,  unless  we  bind 
it  up  with  the  trouble  of  the  world. 

A  livelier,  more  comfortable  population 
is  that  of  the  birds.   I  have  only  seen  gulls 

37 


The  Sea-Charm  of  Venice 

in  the  lagoon,  but  they  fly,  in  great  delight 
and  with  less  talk  than  in  the  north,  about 
the  cluster  of  islands  near  Torcello,  and  feed 
in  flocks  over  the  shallows  when  the  tide 
leaves  the  sea-grasses  bare ;  animating,  en- 
livening the  desolate  shores,  and  gossiping 
so  gaily  that^  for  the  moment  of  our  notice 
of  them,  it  is  hard  to  believe  that  a  thousand 
years  of  the  rise,  the  glory  and  the  decay 
of  a  great  people  have  been  represented  on 
the  waters  and  the  islands  they  make  their 
pasture  and  their  playground. 

The  islands  in  the  lagoon  are  full  of 
charm.  I  do  not  speak  of  Torcello  or 
Burano,  the  first  of  which  is  famous  in  the 
pages  of  Ruskin,  and  the  other  inhabited  by 
a  crowd  of  fisher-folk  and  lace-makers;  or 
of  those  closely  knit  to  Venice  itself,  such 
as  Murano,  San  Giorgio,  or  those  of  the 
Giudecca;  nor  even  of  San  Michele,  where 
the  dead  of  Venice  lie  washing  in  the  water; 
though  it  was  once  a  place  I  visited  every 
week  when  the  small  blue  butterfly  was  born. 
38 


The  Sea-Charm  of  Venice 

The  old  wall  was  still  there  and  its  decayed 
brickwork,  and  I  used  to  fancy  that  the  souls 
of  the  dead  were  in  the  azure  insects  that 
never  ceased  to  flit  in  whirling,  silent  flight 
among  the  wild  grass  and  over  the  tomb- 
stones of  that  solitary  place — souls  so  small, 
so  courteous  to  one  another,  so  beautiful  in 
colour  and  in  movement  that  I  thought  the 
charm  of  the  sea  had  entered  into  their 
nature,  that  they  desired  to  charm,  but 
were  unconscious  of  their  charm. 

Among  the  islands,  though  perhaps  it 
cannot  justly  be  called  an  island,  The 
Lido  claims  the  greater  interest.  It  ex- 
tends, right  opposite  to  Venice,  for  five 
miles — a  long  low  ridge  of  heaped-up  sand, 
a  quarter  of  a  mile  broad — from  San  Nicolo 
to  Malamocco.  It  is  the  chief  guard  of  Venice 
from  the  Adriatic.  At  each  end  is  a  passage 
to  the  open  sea  whose  dark  blue  waves  break 
on  the  white,  brown,  and  yellow  sand  of  its 
sea-ward  side ;  on  the  other,  the  ripples  of 
the  lagoon  lap  the  low  wall  which  looks  out 

39 


The  Sea-Charm  of  Venice 

on  Venice  across  the  quiet  water.  At  the 
northern  end  stands  the  Church  of  San 
Nicolo  di  Bari,  one  of  the  patron  Saints  of 
the  city;  in  its  apse  the  Venetians  lodged 
the  bones  of  the  saint  they  had  stolen  with 
all  the  cleverness  of  Ulysses.  His  spirit 
watched  for  their  welfare  and  defended  the 
great  port  of  their  town.  At  a  short  distance 
from  the  Church  we  come  to  the  very  point 
of  the  Lido.  Opposite  is  the  Fort  of  San 
Andrea  and  the  long  island  of  SanErasmo, 
the  first  of  a  succession  of  Lidi  curving  in- 
wards like  a  bow  to  the  mainland  near  the 
mouth  of  the  Piave,  and  sheltering  Torcello, 
Burano  and  other  islands  in  the  northern 
lagoon.  In  days  gone  by,  this  succession  of 
low-lying  shores  was  clothed  with  pines — 
as  the  coral  islands  of  the  Pacific  are 
with  palms — a  dark,  green,  narrow,  flower- 
haunted  wood,  which,  rising  as  it  were  out 
of  the  breast  of  the  sea,  must  have  charmed 
the  mind  with  a  hundred  fantasies.  Not  a 
tree  of  it  is  left,  though  the  soil  is  rich  and 
40 


The  Sea-Charm  of  Venice 

fertile.  Between  San  Erasmo  and  the  Lido 
the  deep  sea-channel  opens  out  to  Adria 
— an  historic  strait  of  waters — through 
which  a  thousand  thousand  ships  have  gone 
out  for  war  and  trade  and  pleasure  in  all 
the  splendour  of  the  past,  and  returned  with 
music,  victory  and  treasure.  It  was  through 
this  opening  that  the  Doge,  attended  by 
all  the  warriors,  ecclesiastics,  counsellors, 
statesmen  and  great  merchants  of  Venice, 
in  his  gorgeous  galley,  moved  by  some 
hundred  oars,  and  surrounded  by  all  the 
boats  of  Venice,  with  music,  and  shouting 
and  triumph,  went  forth  to  wed  the  sea,  and 
dropped  along  with  holy-water  his  ring  over 
the  stern  with  equal  humility  and  pride.  It 
was  here  that  on  a  night  of  furious  storm 
the  three  great  saints  who  cared  for  the 
safety  of  the  Republic,  St.  Mark,  St.  George, 
and  St.  Nicolas,  delivered  Venice  from  the 
demon-ship  which  was  bringing  from  the  sea 
pestilence  and  destruction  on  the  faithful 
city.    Everyone  knows  the  legend,  and  a 

41 


The  Sea-Charm  of  Venice 

noble  picture  in  the  Accademia  tells  the 
story  of  how  the  fisherman — whose  boat 
St.  Mark  had  hired  to  take  him  at  dead  of 
night  through  a  roaring  gale  to  San  Giorgio 
Maggiore  and  then  to  San  Nicolo — brought 
to  the  Doge  in  the  morning  the  ring 
St.  Mark,  before  he  embarked  on  this  expe- 
dition, had  taken  from  the  treasury  of  his 
Church.  "  Give  that,'"  he  said,  as  return- 
ing, he  landed  on  the  Piazzetta,  "  to  the 
Doge,  and  bid  him  send  it  back  to  my 
Church."  And  the  Doge,  knowing  the  ring, 
believed  the  story  of  the  night.  Nor  is  this 
the  only  record  in  art  of  the  legend.  There 
is  an  unfinished  picture  attributed  to 
Giorgione  of  the  three  Saints  in  their  fish- 
ing boat  meeting  at  the  mouth  of  the  Lido 
the  ship  of  hell,  and  repelling  it  with  the 
Cross.  The  sea  is  tossed  into  violent  surges, 
huge  masses  edged  with  fiery  foam,  over 
which  the  deep-bellied  purple  clouds  are 
driven  by  the  tempest.  The  demons  man 
the  racing  ship  that  seems  to  shiver  as  it 
42 


The  Sea-Charm  of  Venice 

is  suddenly  stayed  in  the  very  entrance  of 
the  port.  Clouds  and  sea  in  raging  storm, 
lit  by  the  flashing  of  the  lightning  in  the 
collied  night,  are  represented  in  so  modern 
a  manner,  and  with  so  modern  a  feeling  for 
nature,  that  it  seems  as  if  Turner's  spirit 
had  entered  into  the  pencil  of  Giorgione. 

So  wild  a  sea  is  rarely  seen  breaking 
on  the  Lido.  On  the  whole,  the  long  low 
shore,  save  when  the  Scirocco  drives  the 
sand  in  a  river  through  the  air,  is  peaceful 
enough;  and  there  are  few  chords  of  colour 
stranger  or  more  strangely  attractive  than 
the  dark  sapphire  sea  leaping  in  joy  and 
with  the  sound  of  trampling  horses  on  the 
pale  yellow  belt  of  sand  fringed  with  the 
green  meadows,  with  acacia,  maize,  and  fig- 
trees,  with  the  pale  leaves  of  the  Canne, 
and  with  the  low  plants,  sea-holly,  dry 
reeds,  and  thistles  which  grow  on  the  edge 
of  the  sand  where  the  last  breath  of  the 
foam-drift  plays  upon  them — blue,  yellow, 
and  various  green,  mingling  together,  for 

43 


The  Sea-Charm  of  Venice 

so  it  often  seemed  to  me,  into  a  mystic 
harmony. 

The  meadows  near  San  Nicolo,  dotted 
with  low  acacia  shrub,  are  lovely — a  place 
of  beloved  repose  and  beauty.  Between  them 
and  the  landing  stage  at  Sant'  Elisabetta 
was  once  the  rude  neglected  Jewish  Ceme- 
tery. The  grave-stones  are  all  collected 
now  and  placed  within  an  ugly  walled- 
space  with  a  small  chapel,  and  an  iron- 
railed  gate.  No  history,  no  sentiment  can 
collect  round  this  hideous  enclosure.  It  was 
but  right  and  reverent  to  redeem  the  tomb- 
stones from  careless  neglect;  but  it  might 
have  been  done  with  some  feeling  for  beauty. 
When  first  I  knew  Venice,  the  grave-stones 
lay  entangled  and  overgrown  with  tall  lush 
grasses,  dwarf  acacias  white  with  blossom, 
and  wild-flowers.  In  spring  the  daffodils 
were  gay  and  golden  there;  in  summer  the 
wild  rose  threw  its  trailers  and  its  starry 
flowers  over  their  desolation.  Some  stones 
stood  erect,  others  had  fallen.  The  flat 
44 


The  Sea-Charm  of  Venice 

stones  lay  at  every  angle;  and  on  all  of 
them  long  inscriptions  in  Hebrew  recorded 
the  love  and  honour  paid  to  the  departed 
by  the  persecuted  race,  who  were  forced  to 
lay  their  dead  on  this  wild  and  uninhabited 
shore.  The  place  was  full  of  history.  It 
symbolised  the  unhappy  fortunes  of  the 
race  in  the  days  of  enmity  and  persecution. 
Here  Shylock  and  Tubal,  I  thought,  were 
housed  at  last.  Here  rested  many  a  Jew, 
whose  life  was  as  noble  as  that  of  Shylock 
was  base.  The  flowers  had  taken  care  of 
them,  and  woven  over  them  a  web  of  beauty. 
Nature  had  repaired  the  cruelty  and  intoler- 
ance of  man.  I  should  have  bought  the 
whole  ground  and  surrounded  it  with  a  low 
wall,  had  I  been  a  Jew;  and  tended  the 
flowers,  and  left  the  place  to  itself.  The 
birds  and  the  insects  loved  it.  It  was  as 
pathetic  as  it  was  beautiful. 

Beyond  it  is  the  Church  of  St.  Elizabeth 
where  the  bathers  land.  Five  minutes' 
walk  takes  one  across  from  the  lagoon  to 

45 


The  Sea-Charm  of  Venice 

the  sea-shore,  bordered  by  hillocks  of  shift- 
ing sand  "  matted  with  thistles  and  am- 
phibious weeds,"  and  itself  close  to  the 
blue  incoming  of  the  waves,  luminous  with 
shells,  and  hard  enough  to  ride  on  with  a 
great  pleasure,  such  pleasure  as  Byron  and 
Shelley  had  day  by  day 

for  the  winds  drove 
The  living  spray  along  the  sunny  air 
Into  our  faces;  the  blue  heavens  were  bare, 
Stripped  to  their  depths  by  the  awakening  north; 
And,  from  the  waves,  sound  like  delight  broke  forth 
Harmonising  with  solitude,  and  sent 
Into  our  hearts  aereal  merriment. 
So,  as  we  rode,  we  talked. 

So  Shelley  wrote,  and  then  described  how 
he  crossed  the  Lido  to  the  lagoon  and  looked 
on  the  sunset.  And  to  this  day  there  are 
few  changes  more  impressive  than  when 
the  traveller  leaves  the  seashore,  with  the 
freshness  of  the  waves  and  the  solitude  of 
the  sea-beach  in  his  heart,  and,  crossing 
to  the  other  side,  looks  forth  on  the  still 
slumber  of  the  lagoon,  and  on  the  towers 
4G 


The  Sea-Charm  of  Venice 

and  peopled  houses  of  the  white  and  golden 
city,  such  a  city — at  the  evening  hour  when 
all  the  sky  behind  is  in  a  glory  of  crimson, 
pearl,  and  azure — as  Galahad  beheld  when 
from  the  lofty  cliff  above  the  Ocean,  he 
rode  across  the  waves  to  be  received  at  the 
glimmering  gates  with  trumpets  sounding, 
with  songs  and  welcome  by  the  angelic  and 
the  saintly  host. 

The  Lido  has  its  interest,  but  the  greater 
charm  belongs  to  the  remoter  islands,  each 
alone  in  the  waste  of  water,  and  with  at- 
tractive names.  It  is  their  habit  on  slum- 
brous days  to  float  in  air  and  not  on  the 
water.  A  silver  line  of  sunny  mist  stretches 
right  across  the  base  of  the  island,  and 
on  this  it  rests,  as  if  it  wished  to  join  the 
sky.  This  sportive  ethereality  is  one  of 
the  wanton  wiles  with  which  they  bewilder 
the  voyager's  imagination.  Their  names 
are  romantic.  San  Lazzaro,  Santa  Elena, 
San  Giacomo  del  Palude,  San  Francesco 
del   Deserto,   II    Spirito,  La   Grazia,   San 

47 


The  Sea- Charm  of  Venice 

Giorgio  in  Alga.  Each  had  its  monastic 
church  in  ancient  days,  and  from  every 
part  of  the  lagoon  the  bells  then  sweetly 
rang  over  the  receptive  water  at  morning, 
noon,  and  evening.  Of  all  these  monas- 
teries only  two  remain,  San  Francesco  del 
Deserto  and  San  Lazzaro.  Only  in  these 
is  the  Church  still  served,  the  cloister  and 
the  cells  still  intact,  the  garden  still  culti- 
vated, the  cypress  and  poplar  garth  still 
a  place  of  musing;  and  only  at  San 
Francesco,  by  the  corner  of  the  isle  that 
looks  to  Venice,  is  there  one  stone-pine,  a 
Tuscan  stranger  in  the  alien  north.  The 
rest  of  the  small  islands  and  their  churches 
are  desecrated,  used  for  state  and  municipal 
purposes,  with  the  exception  of  Torcello  and 
Burano. 

There  is  perhaps  no  more  beautiful  row 
in  Venice  than,  as  the  sunset  begins  in 
September  days,  to  take  the  gondola  out 
of  the  mouth  of  the  Giudecca  and  make 
our  winding  way  to  St.  George  of  the  Sea- 
48 


The  Sea-Charm  of  Venice 

weed,  set  lovely  in  the  lonely  waters  that 
look  towards  the  Euganean  Hills.  Around 
it  lie  the  shallower  sea-marshes  near  the 
mainland,  and  when  the  gold  of  the  sun- 
set strikes  them,  they  flame  like  emerald 
beds  of  fire.  The  tower  of  the  island  church 
used  to  rise,  thin  and  black,  with  two 
upper  windows  through  which  the  sun 
poured  two  shafts  of  light,  against  the 
south-western  glow — a  beacon  seen  far  and 
wide,  a  memorial  tower  that  in  its  silence 
held  a  thousand  thoughts.  It  is  now  de- 
stroyed. It  was  not  in  the  way;  it  might 
have  been  kept  for  the  sake  of  beauty  by 
a  few  clamps;  but  this  was  too  much  for 
modern  Venice.  I  resented  its  departure 
bitterly.  One  consolation  remained.  When 
the  boat  drew  near  the  angle  of  the  island, 
there  stood,  and  still  stands,  set  high  on  the 
angle  of  the  wall,  an  image  of  the  Virgin, 
rudely  carved,  but  with  grave  simplicity  and 
faith.  She  held  her  son  in  her  arms.  On 
her  head  was  an  iron  crown,  engrailed,  and 
E  49 


The  Sea-Charm  of  Venice 

over  her  head  an  iron  umbrella  with  a  fringe 
of  beaten  iron.  She  looked  towards  Venice 
with  blessing  and  protection,  and  claimed 
her  right  in  Venice.  She  was  a  Virgin  for 
the  people  and  of  the  people,  a  gentle, 
lowly  born,  working  woman,  with  a  face  of 
sorrow  and  strength,  such  as  we  may  see 
every  day  in  the  small  squares  of  Venice 
when  the  people  gather  round  the  well.  And 
yet  there  was  such  nobility,  love,  mother- 
hood, and  so  much  sweet  spirit  in  her  air, 
so  much  of  watching  to  protect  and  guard 
the  sea  and  its  fisher- folk,  that  I  cried 
when  I  saw  her  first,  and  afterwards  in  my 
soul  when  I  passed  her,  Ave  Maria,  Maris 
Stella! 

There  is  somewhere  another  Virgin  on 
another  island,  with  also  her  lamp  at  night 
and  her  canopy,  but  I  forget  where  she 
stands.  Wherever  she  is,  she  is  the  same 
benign  and  lonely  person,  the  Madonna  Pro- 
tectrix  of  the  sailor  and  the  lagoon. 

The  row  home  from  this  island  as  the  sun 
50 


The  Sea-Charm  of  Venice 

descends  to  its  rest  on  autumn  evenings,  is 
of  an  extraordinary  splendour  and  beauty. 
The  little  wavelets  of  the  lagoon  are  ebony 
in  shade  and  blazing  gold  on  the  side  where 
the  light  falls.  The  sea-banks  turn  a  golden 
brown,  and  their  grasses  seem  to  change 
into  the  warm  green  of  the  deep  sea.  The 
sky  drops  from  liquid  and  pellucid  blue  to 
pearl,  and  then  to  orange,  crimson  and 
gold.  The  wild  lights  fall  on  the  city  which 
grows  slowly  on  the  eyes,  and  every  tower 
is  a  tower  of  fire.  And  behind,  beyond  St. 
George  of  the  Seaweed,  but  towards  the  left, 
are  the  triangled  Euganean  Hills,  down  the 
sides  of  the  greatest  of  which  I  have  often 
seen  the  sun  roll  like  a  wheel,  such  a  wheel 
as  Ezekiel  saw  in  vision.  Shelley  saw  them 
at  this  sunset  hour. 

Those  famous  Euganean  hills,  which  bear, 
As  seen  from  Lido  thro'  the  harbour  piles. 
The  likeness  of  a  clump  of  peaked  isles — 
And  then — as  if  the  Earth  and  Sea  had  been 
Dissolved  into  one  lake  of  fire,  were  seen 

61 


The  Sea-Charm  of  Venice 

Those  mountains  towering  as  from  waves  of  flame 
Around  the  vaporous  sun,  from  which  there  came 
The  inmost  purple  spirit  of  light,  and  made 
Their  very  peaks  transparent. 

Again  and  again  I  have  seen  this  apparent 
transparency  of  the  peaks.  That  Shelley  re- 
corded it  is  one  example  of  how  closely  he 
observed  nature,  and  how  accurately  he 
recorded  her  doings.  Much  more  might  be 
said  of  the  islands;  but  this  seems  enough. 
Each  of  them,  right  away  to  the  Piave  on 
one  side  and  to  Chioggia  on  the  other,  has 
its  history,  its  religion,  and  its  ruin. 

Perhaps  one  of  the  greatest  pleasures  of 
the  lagoon  is  sailing  on  it.  A  gondola  is 
scarcely  a  safe  boat  to  sail,  except  in  a 
following  wind.  It  has  no  keel,  and  it  turns 
over  easily,  but  with  one  of  the  great  oars 
behind  it  steers  steadily.  Once,  with  two 
rowers,  I  took  more  than  two  hours  to  row 
from  Venice  to  Torcello  against  the  wind. 
I  sailed  back  in  forty  minutes.  The  lagoon 
was  rough  with  short  tossing  waves  edged 
52 


The  Sea-Charm  of  Venice 

with  foam,  indescribably  fresh  and  gay. 
The  long  boat,  with  its  flat  bottom,  flew 
over  the  surface  of  four  or  five  waves  to- 
gether, at  a  torrent  speed.  I  never  was  so 
conscious  of  swiftness,  and  the  boat  itself 
was  alive  beneath,  all  its  will  in  its  move- 
ment, pulling  and  leaping  like  an  Arab 
steed.  This  was  delightful;  nor  is  it  less 
delightful,  having  made  friends  with  the 
owners  of  one  of  the  larger  boats,  to  sail 
up  and  down  the  sea-streets  of  the  lagoon, 
when  the  wind  is  fresh  and  the  tide 
running  fast,  and  the  night  is  dark,  save 
for  glimpses  of  the  hurrying  moon.  The 
steersman  is  silent,  the  sky  is  silent,  the 
soul  itself  is  silent.  Nothing  speaks  but 
the  wind  in  the  sail  and  the  water  round 
the  rushing  prow,  and  these  sounds  deepen 
the  silence.  That  which  men  feel  who  stand 
sentinel  on  the  bow  of  a  ship  in  the  midst 
of  the  great  Oceans,  one  may  feel  here  close 
to  a  busy  town.  And  in  the  vast  solitude 
and   peace   the  infinite    Spirit   of  Nature 

53 


The  Sea-Charm  of  Venice 

comes  home  to  our  spirit,  and  we  feel  our 
own  infinity. 

But  quiet  is  not  always  the  seal  of  the 
lagoon.  I  have  seen  it  tormented  and  torn 
with  wind,  so  ravaged  that  it  was  impossible 
to  cross  from  the  Piazzetta  to  San  Giorgio 
Maggiore,  so  furious  that  the  waves  leaped 
up  the  quay  and  ran  along  the  pavement  to 
the  space  between  the  orient  pillars  whence 
St.  Theodore  and  the  Lion  of  St.  Mark 
watch  over  the  heart  of  Venice.  Nor  can  I 
refrain  from  telling  here  what  once  I  saw  of 
deadly  storm  out  on  the  lagoon  close  by  the 
island  of  St.  James  of  the  Marsh.  We  had 
been  rowing  back  from  Torcello  under  a 
terrible  sky,  very  lofty,  of  dark  purple  cloud, 
smooth  as  the  inside  of  a  cup.  Across  this, 
in  incessant  play,  the  lightning  fled  to  and 
fro,  not  in  single  flashes,  but  in  multitudes 
at  the  same  time,  ribbons  and  curling 
streamers  and  branching  trees  of  white 
violet  and  crimson  light.  So  far  away  and 
high  they  were  that  the  thunder  of  their 
54 


The  Sea-Charm  of  Venice 

movement  sent  no  sound  to  us.  Towards 
the  Alps  a  white  arch  seemed  to  open  under 
the  pall  of  cloud,  and  in  it  were  whirlings 
of  vapour.  The  gondolier  bent  forward  and 
said — We  must  take  refuge.  We  must  land 
at  the  island.  I  laughed,  and  said — No,  we 
will  go  on;  and  I  heard  him  mutter  to  him- 
self— These  English  have  no  fear.  And  then 
I  thought  that  he  was  certain  to  know  far 
more  than  I  of  the  lagoon,  and  I  turned 
and  said:  "It  is  not  courage  we  have,  but 
ignorance;  do  what  you  think  right ";  and 
we  drew  the  boat  to  the  landing  of 
San  Giacomo,  and  crossed  the  little  island 
to  the  rampart  that  looked  forth  to  the 
mainland ;  and  then,  issuing  out  of  the  white 
wrath  that  seemed  to  dwell  in  the  cloud- 
arch,  a  palm  tree  of  pale  vapour  formed 
itself  and  came  with  speed.  It  reached 
the  lagoon  near  Mestre,  and  towered  out  of 
it  to  the  heaven,  its  ghostly  pillar  relieved 
against  the  violet  darkness  of  the  sky,  its 
edge  as  clear  as  if  cut  down  by  a  knife,  and 

55 


The  Sea-Charm  of  Venice 

about  a  yard  apparently  in  breadth.  It  came 
rushing  across  the  lagoon,  driven  by  the 
Spirit  of  wind  which  within  whu'led  and 
coiled  its  column  into  an  endless  spiral. 
The  wind  was  only  in  it;  at  its  very  edge 
there  was  not  a  ripple;  but  as  it  drew  near 
our  island  it  seemed  to  be  pressed  down  on 
the  sea,  and,  unable  to  resist  the  pressure, 
opened  out  like  a  fan  in  a  foam  of  vapour. 
Then,  with  a  shriek  which  made  every 
nerve  thrill  with  excitement,  the  imprisoned 
wind  leaped  forth,  the  sea  beneath  it  boiled, 
and  the  island,  as  the  cloud  of  spray  and 
wind  smote  it,  trembled  like  a  ship  struck 
by  a  great  wave.  Then  the  whirlwind  fled 
on  to  Burano  and  smote  the  town.  Next 
morning  a  number  of  persons  were  brought 
into  the  Hospital  at  Venice  who  had  been 
wounded  by  the  whirl- storm.  There  is  wild 
weather  in  Venice  and  on  its  waters. 

I  have  known  Venice  so  dark  under  black 
wind  and  rain  that  it  was  impossible  to  read 
at  three  in  the  afternoon  in  August.  I  have 
5G 


The  Sea-Charm  of  Venice 

stood  on  the  Rialto  in  so  heavy  a  snow- 
storm that  not  a  single  boat  crossed  the 
empty,  desolate  river  of  the  Grand  Canal. 
The  palaces  were  clear  in  the  cold  light, 
their  marbles  shining  in  the  wet.  The  tiled 
roofs  were  white  with  snow,  and  the  dark 
ranges  of  gondolas  moored  to  the  quays 
were  relieved  by  the  snow  that  lay  thickly 
upon  them.  The  Campaniles  rose  out  of 
the  mist  with  a  touch  of  snow  on  their 
windward  side.  A  gloomier  sight,  a  more 
unhappy  day  I  never  saw.  Yet  even  in  this 
wild  weather  Venice  wore  her  beauty  like 
a  robe  and  exercised  her  incessant  fas- 
cination. I  have  walked  over  the  Piazza, 
crunching  through  the  ice  that  covered  its 
inundated  marbles.  I  have  sheltered  from 
the  furious  rain  and  wind  of  a  roaring 
Scirocco  under  the  door  of  the  Hospital  in 
the  Square  of  SS.  John  and  Paul,  and  seen 
through  the  driving  slant  of  rain  Colleone 
proudly  reining  in  his  horse,  his  baton  in 
his  hand,  his  noble  casque  outlined  like  a 

57 


The  Sea-Charm  of  Venice 

falcon,  and  his  eager  and  adventurous  face 
in  profile  against  the  dun  sky.  He  looked 
as  he  may  have  looked  many  a  time,  lead- 
ing his  men,  when  wild  weather  was  roving 
over  Lombardy. 

I  have  felt  as  if  the  very  waters  trembled, 
like  the  palaces,  with  the  appalling  roar 
and  shattering  clash  of  such  a  thunder- 
storm as  I  have  never  known  elsewhere ; 
but  the  most  impressive  aspect  of  savage 
weather  is  when,  in  tremendous  rain,  one 
stands  sheltered  under  the  colonnade,  at 
the  corner  where  the  Piazzetta  turns  into 
the  Piazza.  The  enormous  roof  of  St. 
Mark's,  and  that  of  the  Procuratie,  collect 
the  rain  and  pour  it  forth  by  the  great 
spouts  more  than  a  yard  in  length  which 
project  over  the  pavement  from  the  parapets. 
From  each  of  these,  from  hundreds  of  them, 
a  cataract  leaps  like  a  tigress,  and  falls 
resounding  on  the  pavement.  The  noise  is 
deafening,  the  pavement  is  half  a  foot  deep 
in  turbulent  water,  the  wind  screams,  the 
58 


The  Sea-Charm  of  Venice 

men  are  blown  across  the  square,  the 
gondolas  rock  at  the  steps  and  beat  against 
the  piles,  the  thunder  roars  till  the  two 
giant  columns,  where  St.  Theodore  and  the 
Lion  stand  in  proud  serenity,  seem  to 
shake,  and  through  the  black  sap  of  rain, 
the  lightning  flares  the  Ducal  Palace  into 
momentary  colour.  It  is  a  sight,  a  sound, 
not  to  be  forgotten.  Tintoret,  with  his 
sympathy  for  the  wild  work  of  nature,  has 
seized  and  recorded  this  in  his  picture  of 
the  bearing  of  the  body  of  St.  Mark  out 
of  Alexandria.  The  Alexandrian  Square 
he  has  made  into  the  Piazzetta  of  Venice. 
The  rain  is  falling  in  torrents,  the  water- 
spouts cascade  to  the  pavement.  The  pave- 
ment is  so  deep  in  the  running  water  that 
it  is  looped  around  the  legs  of  the  bearers 
of  the  body,  fiercely  swirling.  It  is  a 
splendid  picture  of  a  Venetian  storm,  and 
in  the  background  of  it,  that  we  may  not 
lose  the  sea,  the  waves  of  the  lagoon  are 
breaking  over  the  quay. 

59 


The  Sea-Charm  of  Venice 

But  these  impressions  are  endless.  In 
other  towns  there  is  some  constancy  in 
the  doings  of  nature.  The  general  aspect  of 
the  weather  is  much  the  same  for  a  month 
at  a  time.  In  Venice  not  a  day  passes 
without  many  changes.  The  various  and 
mutable  sea-goddess  has  her  own  wild  and 
fickle  way  with  her  peculiar  people. 

Once  more,  before  I  leave  the  lagoon  and 
the  islands,  I  will  record  a  day  I  spent, 
when  partly  by  gondola  and  partly  walking, 
I  made  the  circuit  of  Venice  in  pursuit  of 
her  sea-charm.  Early  in  the  morning  I  left 
the  Piazzetta  and  rowed  down  the  Eiva  del 
Schiavoni  till  I  reached  the  public  gardens. 
Their  sea-wall  dipped  from  a  path  shaded 
by  acacias,  thick  with  white  blossom  in  the 
spring,  into  the  lagoon,  and  at  the  point  of 
the  peninsula  the  gardens  make,  I  looked 
south  along  the  quay  into  the  very  mouth 
of  the  Grand  Canal,  with  the  Palace  and 
the  Campanile  on  one  side,  and  the  Church 
of  the  Salute  and  of  St.  Giorgio  on  the  other, 
GO 


The  Sea-Charm  of  Venice 

a  glorious  group  of  buildings  which  seemed 
to  borrow  splendour  and  delight  in  their 
own  existence  from  the  dancing,  sparkling, 
rippling,  glancing,  laughing  water  which 
surrounded  them.  It  was  like  an  Empire's 
gate,  and  the  Empire  was  the  Empire  of 
the  Sea.  Eight  opposite,  between  me  and 
the  Lido,  lay  the  Island  of  Sant'  Elena,  like 
a  jewel  of  emerald  and  pearl  set  in  the  blue 
enamel  of  the  sea.  Its  little  church  was 
nestled  in  trees,  and  over  its  sea-wall  hung 
dark  green  and  tangled  boughs  of  ilex,  and 
pale  acacia,  and  the  golden  wealth  of  fig 
trees;  and  all  along  the  parapet  roses 
trailed  and  the  gadding  vine,  and  scented 
the  sweet  soft  wind.  I  little  thought  that, 
as  I  write  now,  there  would  not  be  left  one 
trace  of  all  this  beauty.  I  rowed  out  to  it 
there  and  landed.  The  church  was  used  as 
a  granary,  but  beside  it  the  tiny  cloister  was 
still  exquisite  even  in  its  ruin — paved  with 
marble  and  brick;  its  small  Gothic  arches 
and  the  roofs  of  its  remaining  rooms  gar- 

61 


The  Sea-Charm  of  Venice 

merited  and  entangled  with  roses.  A  carved 
well  stood  in  the  centre,  and  all  around  the 
low  wall  of  the  arcades,  every  leaf  and  flower 
gleaming  in  the  sunlight,  tall  oleanders, 
pink  and  white,  grew  in  deep  red  pots  of 
clay — a  place  so  fair,  so  sweet  and  solitary, 
so  noiseless  save  for  the  bees,  that  the 
delicate  soul  of  St.  Francis,  whose  was  the 
church,  would  have  prayed  in  it  with  joy, 
and  praised  the  Lord  who  made  the  world 
so  lovely. 

Then  I  rowed  round  the  wall  of  the 
Arsenal  to  San  Pietro  di  Castello.  Be- 
hind that  church  and  the  Arsenal  is  the 
most  wretched  part  of  Venice,  where  the 
people  are  poorest  and  wildest,  and  the 
lanes  most  unkempt  and  uncared  for.  Yet 
it  was  here,  on  this  outlying  island,  that 
for  many  centuries  the  Cathedral  of  Venice 
claimed  the  reverence  of  the  city.  The  old 
church  has  long  perished,  and  its  unhappy 
successor  stands  now  in  a  deserted  square 
with  plots  of  dry  and  melancholy  grass 
62 


The  Sea-Charm  of  Venice 

where  the  fishermen  dry  their  nets,  nor  has 
it  any  dignity  or  beauty  of  its  own.  But  I 
loved  the  place  for  its  loneliness,  and  for 
its  wide  view  across  the  shining  lagoon 
to  the  misty  plain  of  the  mainland,  and 
beyond  to  the  "  eagle-baffling  "  rampart  of 
the  Alps.  That  wide-expanding  view  is  no 
longer  visible,  for  the  Arsenal  has  been  ex- 
tended, and  shut  out  its  glory.  The  square 
is  now  quite  desolate,  but  it  is  still  worth 
visiting  for  its  associations.  Here  every 
year  the  Brides  of  Venice  were  dowered  by 
the  State;  here  their  ravishment  by  the 
pirates  took  place.  It  was  Magnus,  Bishop 
of  Altinum,  that  set  up  here  the  first  Church 
of  Venice,  the  same  Magnus  to  whom  the 
Lord  appeared  in  vision  and  told  him  to 
build  a  Church  (St.  Salvador)  in  the  midst 
of  the  city  on  a  plot  of  ground  above  which 
he  should  see  a  red  cloud  rest.  A  different 
vision  built  San  Pietro.  St.  Peter  himself 
appeared  to  Magnus  and  commanded  him 
to  set  up  a  Church  in  his  name,  where  he 

63 


The  Sea-Charm  of  Venice 

should  find  on  Eivo  Alto  oxen  and  sheep 
feeding  on  the  meadows.  The  grass  of  the 
Campo  still  recalls  the  ancient  legend. 

Even  now,  as  I  write,  I  see  the  Tower  and 
the  paved  square,  and  the  gardens  behind, 
and  recall  a  favourite  picture  in  the  church 
which,  amid  the  desolation  of  the  island, 
is  like  a  lovely  maid  in  a  deserted  wood. 
It  is  said  to  be  by  Basaiti,  and  pictures 
St.  George  and  the  Dragon.  It  is  arched  at 
the  top,  and  the  arch  is  filled  with  a  pale 
evening  sky  of  rosy  light,  soft  as  a  dream, 
and  faintly  barred  with  lines  of  vaporous 
blue.  Into  this  tender  sky  rises  on  the  left 
a  mountain,  broad  and  alone,  and  below  the 
mountain  a  ranging  hill,  and  below  the  hill 
the  walls  towers  and  gates  of  a  city,  and 
below  the  city  a  two-arched  bridge,  and 
below  the  bridge  a  flowing  river,  and  on  the 
bank  of  the  river  St.  George  on  his  horse, 
his  head  bent  down  to  his  horse's  neck  with 
the  couching  of  his  spear,  and  on  the  spear 
the  formless  dragon,  and  above  the  dragon 
64 


The  Sea- Charm  of  Venice 

on  the  right,  Sabra,  clinging  in  lingering 
flight  to  the  trunk  of  a  great  fig  tree  that 
flings  into  the  rosy  sky  three  long  branches 
sparsely  clothed  with  leaves.  They  hang,  as 
if  to  crown  the  victor,  over  the  head  of 
St.  George,  whose  face,  young,  yet  full  of 
veteran  experience  and  holiness,  is  of  the 
same  grave  tenderness  as  the  sky.  This  is 
Basaiti  in  his  noblest  vein  and  manner, 
and  the  picture  has  on  the  whole  escaped 
the  restorers. 

I  left  the  square,  with  this  noble  painting 
in  my  mind,  and  rowed  on  to  the  Sacca  della 
Misericordia  beyond  the  Canal,  which  leads 
to  the  Church  of  SS.  John  and  Paul.  This 
is  a  great  square  piece  of  the  lagoon,  sur- 
rounded on  three  sides  by  sheds  and  houses, 
where  all  the  wood  used  for  building  in  Venice 
is  brought  from  the  mainland,  and  left  float- 
ing on  the  water.  The  place  has  always 
fascinated  me,  I  scarcely  know  why — for 
the  view  of  San  Michele  and  Murano  and 
the  Alps  beyond  is  seen  as  well  from  other 
F  65 


The  Sea-Charm  of  Venice 

points — but  I  think  it  partly  is  that  the 
great  trunks  and  beams,  and  the  sawn 
planks  seasoning  in  the  water,  bring  back 
to  me  the  mountain  valleys,  torrents  and 
knolls  of  rock  where  the  trees  were  hewn 
down,  and  jBll  the  sea-city  with  images  of 
the  wild  landscape  of  the  land ;  and  partly 
that  one  seems  to  see  in  the  waiting  wood 
all  that  human  hands  will  make  of  it — 
houses,  roofs,  furniture,  bridges,  gondolas, 
barks  that  will  meet  the  beating  of  the 
Adriatic  waves,  piles  that  v/ill  build  founda- 
tions for  new  buildings.  The  coming  human 
activity  moves  like  a  spirit  over  the  floating 
masses  in  this  tract  of  water. 

Then  I  rowed  on  till,  crossing  the  southern 
entrance  of  the  Grand  Canal,  I  touched  on 
the  low  wall  of  the  little  grassy  campo  in 
front  of  the  Church  of  San  Andrea.  It 
looked  over  the  lagoon,  the  water  of  which 
lapped  its  sea-wall,  to  the  mainland.  Oppo- 
site it  was  the  Island  of  San  Giorgio  in 
Aliga,  its  dark  toAver  black  against  the  pale 
66 


The  Sea-Charm  of  Venice 

pearl  and  rose  of  the  late  afternoon  sky; 
on  its  left,  seeming  to  lie  on  the  water, 
the  violet  range  of  the  volcanic  Euganeans, 
so  far,  so  delicate,  so  ethereal,  that  they 
appeared  to  be  made  of  the  evening  sky. 
The  rest  of  the  heaven  was  cloudy,  but  the 
sweetness  of  solitude,  and  the  peace  of  this 
deserted  place,  and  the  spirit  of  the  coming 
evening,  were  so  full  of  grace  that  I  landed, 
dismissed  my  gondola,  and  stood  under  the 
porch  of  the  late  Gothic  church,  enjoying 
the  silence.  There  is  a  carving  over  the 
door,  so  simple  and  childlike  in  feeling  that 
it  is  hard  to  believe  it  is  Eenaissance  work. 
It  is  of  St.  Peter  walking  on  the  water  and 
of  St.  Andrew  close  at  hand  in  his  boat, 
with  a  gondolier's  oar  floating  in  the  water, 
and  beyond  a  piece  of  broken  landscape. 
This  little  invention  into  which  the  sculptor 
had  put  his  soul  suited  the  quiet  square,  not 
larger  than  a  large  room.  Thought  and 
imagination  seemed  to  be  limited  by  the 
narrow  space,  but  only  seemed,  for  in  front 

67 


The  Sea-Charm  of  Venice 

opened  out  to  the  south  the  broad  lagoon  and 
the  wide  plain  of  the  mainland,  and  I  knew 
that  to  the  north  rose  into  an  infinite  sky 
the  peaks  of  the  Alps,  aspiring  to  reach  the 
celestial  City.  I  lingered  long,  hoping  that 
the  clouds  would  clear  away,  but  it  was  not 
then  I  had  that  revelation.  Afterwards,  when 
walking  somewhere  near  San  Sebastiano, 
I  came  to  a  small  bridge  and  there  I  be- 
held what  seemed  to  be  the  gates  of  Paradise. 
The  clouds  had  lifted  to  the  north  and  the 
south-west.  They  rolled  away  like  a  folding 
scroll,  and  what  I  saw  was  the  clear  light 
of  the  setting  sun  on  one  side,  and  on  the 
other  the  whole  range  of  the  Julian  Alps, 
with  the  rose  of  the  sunset  on  their  freshly 
fallen  snows.  I  crossed  a  muddy  canal  and 
found  myself  with  an  unimpeded  view  on 
the  grassy  and  deserted  ground  of  the  Campo 
Marte.  It  ran  out  then  into  the  lagoon, 
and  I  stood  on  its  wild  beach  looking  out 
upon  the  waters.  Sea-marsh  and  lonely 
piles  and  flitting  sea-birds  and  a  solitary 
68 


The  Sea-Charm  of  Venice 

fishing  boat  on  the  rippling  surface,  growing 
gold  and  crimson,  led  my  eyes  to  the  black 
tower  of  San  Giorgio  and  to  the  hills  of 
Padua,  and  then  to  the  purple  bases  of  the 
Alps  rising  into  tender  gray  and  shadowy 
blue;  and  above,  tossed  and  recessed  and 
fretted  into  a  thousand  traceries,  the  great 
waves  of  the  snow  peaks,  all  suffused  with 
a  divine  rose.  Slowly  the  evanescent  tender- 
ness departed,  but  with  ceaseless  change  of 
rose  and  violet  and  gray.  Only  above  the 
engrailed  summits  the  pale  azure  was  stead- 
fast, the  clear  shining  after  rain.  I  watched 
the  sun  go  down,  I  listened  to  the  roar  of 
the  Adriatic  as  it  came  to  me,  a  low 
murmur  over  the  solitary  field;  I  heard 
the  Ave  Maria  peal  sweetly  from  all  the 
bells  of  Venice,  and  I  thought  of  the  Mo- 
ther and  the  Child  who  saved  the  world. 
And  then  I  went  away,  having  seen  a 
vision.* 

'  The  view  from  both  these  places,  San  Andrea 
and  the  Campo  Marte,  is  now  blocked  out  by  the 

69 


The  Sea-Charm  of  Venice 

I  visited  then  a  garden  and  friends  I  knew 
and  when  night  fell  rowed  home  down  the 
Grand  Canal.  The  moon  had  risen,  and  her 
light,  in  a  sky  now  clear  save  of  flying 
clouds,  was  intensely  brilliant.  The  great 
sea-river,  strangely  quiet,  almost  magical 
in  its  stillness  and  in  the  flood  of  white 
luminousness  that  seemed  poured  upon  it 
in  streams,  shimmered  like  liquid  cornelian, 
a  milky  expanse  among  ghostly  palaces  on 
either  hand.  The  mighty  masses  of  the 
Renaissance  palaces  which,  in  losing  all 
their  irritating  and  confusing  ornaments  in 
the  dim  and  melting  moonlight,  reveal  their 
noble  and  beautiful  proportions,  supplanted 
the  smaller  palaces  of  Byzantine  and  Gothic 
form  which  depend  so  much  for  the  im- 
pression they  make  on  their  lovely  orna- 
ment and  colour  both  of  which  disappear 
in  the  moonlight.  Above  me,  as  I  rowed, 
the  glorious  blue  of  the  sky,  across  which 

great  Fondamenta,  built  for  the  Orient  Liners  and 
the  Adriatic  trade  of  Venice. 

70 


The  Sea-Charm  of  Venice 

darted  now  and  then  a  shooting  star,  ap- 
peared to  watch  over  its  beloved  city.  The 
moon  seemed  racing  in  it,  so  swift  in  the 
fresh  sea- wind  was  the  motion  of  the  white 
clouds  across  her  disk.  Each  as  it  crossed 
took  rainbow  colours,  and  threw  a  mystic 
shadow  on  the  world  below.  Only  one 
gondola  passed  me  by,  a  lantern  burning 
on  its  prow,  and  its  rower,  silent  as  his 
boat,  looked  like  a  spirit  in  the  moonlight. 
Then  the  deep  shadow  of  the  Rialto  hid  the 
moon,  and  I  found  my  lodging. 

It  is  time  now  to  turn  to  a  different  mat- 
ter— What  was  the  influence,  towards  the 
power  to  charm,  of  this  water-life  of  the 
sea  on  the  arts  in  Venice  ? 

First,  architecture  was  made  different  by 
it  from  all  that  it  was  in  other  Italian  towns. 
The  commerce  and  the  wars  of  Venice  in 
the  East  caused  her  nobles  and  merchant 
princes  to  study  the  buildings  of  the  East. 
Rome  did  not  influence  them  so  much  as 

71 


The  Sea-Charm  of  Venice 

Constantinople,  Asia  Minor,  and  the  Holy 
Land.  It  was  long  before  the  northern 
Gothic,  chiefly  Franciscan,  had  any  power  in 
Venice,  and  when  it  had,  it  was  apart  from 
the  spirit  of  the  city.  The  Church  of  St. 
Mark  is  an  Eastern  not  a  Western  Church. 
Many  of  the  palaces  along  the  Grand  Canal 
were  built  in  imitation  of  palaces  the  mer- 
chants had  seen  when  they  anchored  in 
Orient  ports.  Often,  as  one  wanders  in  the 
narrow  streets,  a  window,  a  door-head,  a 
disc  in  the  wall,  will  remember  us  of  the 
Byzantine  Empire.  There  is  a  disc  near 
San  Polo  where  the  Emperor  of  Eastern 
Kome  sits  in  full  imperial  robes  and  crown, 
just  as  Justinian  is  represented  in  the  mosaic 
at  San  Vitale  in  Ravenna.  At  Ravenna,  we 
are  still  closer  to  the  architecture  of  that 
Empire,  but  here,  and  this  is  characteristic 
of  early  Venetian  architecture,  there  is  a 
greater  liberty,  a  more  individual  choice  and 
treatment  of  buildings  than  there  is  at  Ra- 
venna. It  is  scarcely  imitation  which  we 
72 


The  Sea-Charm  of  Venice 

see,  but  Eastern  ideas  of  architecture  freely 
modified  and  recreated  into  new  forms  by 
the  architects.  It  is  as  if  the  free  life  of  the 
sea  itself  had  instilled  its  wild  originality, 
variety  and  beauty  into  the  imagination  of 
the  builders. 

The  continual  change  of  the  sea  and  its 
novelty  entered  not  only  into  public  but 
domestic  architecture.  All  along  the  canals, 
the  private  houses  built  by  the  earlier  ar- 
chitects of  Venice  change  incessantly  their 
form.  In  every  house  the  ornament  is  indi- 
vidual. Moreover,  in  the  work  itself,  there 
is  a  finish,  a  delicate  delight  in  perfection 
of  minute  carving,  a  lavish  invention  which 
belongs  to  the  best  Oriental  work.  Its  finish 
was  always  precious ;  and  this  ideal  of  finish 
entered  also  into  the  first  buildings  of  the 
Kenaissance  in  Venice,  and  made  their 
sculpture  and  decoration  more  lively  and 
more  exquisite  than  elsewhere  in  Italy. 
This  charm  in  ornament  belonged  to  Venice, 
because  it  was  the  Queen  of  the  Mediter- 

73 


The  Sea-Charm  of  Venice 

ranean  Sea,  the  mistress  of  the  East.  The 
Orient  brought  over  the  sea  the  subtlety, 
the  delicate  finish,  and  the  golden  beauty  of 
its  art  to  Venice. 

From  the  East  also — and  learnt  because 
Venice  was  a  sea-power — came  the  extraor- 
dinary love  of  colour  which  must  have  made 
mediaeval  Venice  like  a  city  built  of  rain- 
bows. It  passed,  as  I  have  said,  into  the 
fishing  boats  and  their  sails.  It  belonged  to 
the  poorest  houses  on  the  distant  islands. 
It  made  the  Venetian  painters  the  first 
masters  of  colour.  We  have  some  notion 
of  it  from  the  exterior  of  St.  Mark's,  which 
even  by  moonlight  blazes  like  a  breast-plate 
of  jewels;  from  its  interior,  which,  subdued 
into  dark  but  glowing  sanctities  of  colour, 
solemnizes  the  spirit.  But  in  ancient  days 
the  colour-glory  of  St.  Mark's  was  extended 
over  the  whole  city.  It  shone  with  gold  and 
crimson,  with  azure  and  burning  green, 
with  deep  purple  and  the  blue  of  the  sea 
waves.  The  sailors  and  merchants  of  the 
74 


The  Sea-Charm  of  Venice 

East  when  they  visited  Venice  saw  in  her 
architecture  colour  as  brilliant  as  that  of 
their  own  cities,  and  felt  themselves  at 
home.  The  architects,  lavishing  colour 
everywhere,  made  a  water  street  in  Venice 
as  decorative  as  the  title-page  of  a  Missal. 

Again,  that  element  of  charm  arising 
from  the  double  life  of  all  things  through 
reflection  in  still  water,  entered,  I  believe, 
into  the  soul  of  every  architect  in  Venice, 
and  modified  his  work.  He  knew,  or  uncon- 
sciously felt  as  he  built,  that  each  palace, 
church,  tower,  and  dwelling  house  would 
often  have,  in  unconscious  nearness,  each  its 
own  image  and  a  second  heaven  in  a  mir- 
rored beauty;  that  each  would  be  in  the 
centre  of  another  fair  world  of  its  own  in  the 
water  beneath  it.  He  was  inspired  to  greater 
excellence  than  in  a  city  on  the  land,  by  the 
knowledge  that  all  his  work,  reflected  by 
the  sea,  would  be  seen  for  ever  in  a  twofold 
loveliness. 

Two  other  peculiarities,  not  found  in  the 

75 


The  Sea-Charm  of  Venice 

other  cities  of  Italy,  give  a  distinct  charm 
to  the  architecture  of  Venice;  and  they  are 
both  caused  by  her  position  in  the  sea.  The 
first  of  these  is  that  all  her  important 
buildings  are  covered  from  cornice  to  foun- 
dation with  precious  and  lovely  marbles. 
The  foundations  were  laid  with  mighty 
blocks  of  Istrian  marble,  brought  from  the 
mainland;  but  it  was  impossible  to  bring 
from  so  far  enough  of  solid  stone  to  build  the 
palaces,  churches,  and  dwellings  of  Venice. 
With  rare  exceptions,  then,  the  walls  were 
of  brick;  but,  for  beauty's  sake,  the  brick 
was  overlaid,  outside  and  inside,  with  thin 
slabs  of  veined  and  various  marbles,  with 
alabaster,  with  discs  of  porphyry,  with 
mosaic,  or  with  frescoes.  The  oversheeting 
marbles  were  brought  from  across  the  sea. 
The  frescoes  were  done  by  the  Venetian 
artists.  Imagination,  flying  high,  can 
scarcely  represent  to  itself  the  glorious 
aspect  of  the  Fondaco  dei  Tedeschi,  as 
seen  from  the  Eialto,  covered  from  top  to 
76 


The  Sea-Charm  of  Venice 

bottom  with  frescoes  by  Titian  and  Gior- 
gione.  These  have  perished,  but  the  inlaid 
and  marble  covered  walls  of  the  Vene- 
tian palaces  remain,  and  they  are  like  a 
lovely  mosaic  of  rich  colour.  On  their 
marble  and  alabaster  the  sea  winds  and 
the  sunlight  have  so  acted  that  the  surface 
has  a  sheen  of  flying  and  evasive  colour, 
and  a  patina  which  I  have  not  seen  else- 
where, even  in  Genoa.  Those  accursed  re- 
storers have  taken  the  trouble,  notably  in 
St.  Mark's,  of  scraping  this  away.  It  is  like 
cleaning  the  patina  away  from  a  Greek 
bronze.  Nature— sea  and  sun  and  wind — 
had  adopted  the  buildings  for  her  own,  and 
given  centuries  of  work  to  enhance  the 
beauty  of  their  original  colour.  Italy  has 
despised  and  destroyed  this  labour  of  Na- 
ture. But  in  many  places  the  charm  re- 
mains, and  it  is  the  work,  directly  and  in- 
directly, of  the  sea. 

There  is  a  second  thing  to  say  of  the  in- 
fluence of  the  sea  position  of  Venice  on  her 

77 


The  Sea-Charm  of  Venice 

architecture,  and  of  the  charm  of  it.  In  the 
mediaeval  towns  of  the  Italian  mainland, 
the  palaces  of  the  nobles  and  merchants, 
even  the  ordinary  houses,  present  to  the 
street  lofty  and  blind  walls  of  enormous 
strength,  especially  along  the  lower  story. 
They  have  the  aspect  of  prisons,  and  they 
were  made  in  this  fashion  for  the  sake  of 
defence  in  the  incessant  quarrels  waged  by 
the  opponent  families  and  parties  in  the 
city.  There  is  no  openness,  no  story  of 
hospitable  receptions,  no  brightness  of  life, 
no  sense  of  peace,  impressed  on  us  by  the 
great  buildings  of  the  inland  towns  of  Italy. 
Even  when  we  visit  a  little  hill  town  like 
San  Gimignano,  we  see  that  the  common 
houses,  as  well  as  those  of  the  nobles,  wear 
the  appearance  of  fortresses.  It  is  quite 
different  in  Venice.  The  main  entrance  of 
the  houses,  of  rich  and  poor,  was  on  the 
sea-side,  on  the  canal.  A  wide  door,  leading 
to  a  long  hall,  opened  by  steps  on  the  water. 
The  glancing  of  the  water  plays  on  the  roof 
78 


The  Sea-Charm  of  Venice 

of  the  hall  which  goes  back  to  a  small  gar- 
den. The  great  staircase  mounts  to  the  first 
story  from  this  hall,  and  that  story  has 
wide,  open-hearted  windows  with  a  deep 
balcony.  Everything  suggests  peace,  fear- 
lessness, and  the  welcome  of  humanity. 
The  steps  seem  made  for  the  reception  of 
crowds  of  guests.  Tall  piles,  coloured  in 
bands  of  red,  white,  and  blue,  tell  what  hosts 
of  warless  gondolas  were  moored  there  by 
the  visitors.  The  whole  of  the  lower  story 
was  often  an  arcade.  The  palace  seems  to 
throw  itself  open  to  the  air,  the  light,  and 
the  populace.  Its  aspect  is  the  aspect  of 
friendship  and  hospitality,  of  a  city  whose 
citizens  were  at  peace  one  with  another. 

This  makes  the  appearance  of  Venice 
quite  different  from  that  of  any  other  Ita- 
lian town,  and  its  charm  is  great.  Nothing 
indeed  can  be  prettier  or  more  full  of  the 
delight  of  changing  sunshine  and  shade,  and 
of  pleasant  human  life  doing  its  work  and 
having  its  joys  in  the  sun,  than  to  row 

79 


The  Sea-Charm  of  Venice 

through  the  narrower  canals,  and  look  into 
these  wide  open  doors,  and  see  in  the  glint 
and  glimmer  of  the  light  reflected  from  the 
water  the  shadowy  spaces  full  of  men  and 
women  at  work,  of  boys  and  girls  playing, 
of  tiny  fishermen  and  tiny  bathers  making 
the  bright  waters  that  lap  their  open  doors 
their  playing  and  their  working  place.  The 
freshness,  the  breadth,  the  joyous  move- 
ment of  the  sea,  fill  their  dwelling,  regu- 
late their  life,  mould  their  character,  and 
set  the  seal  of  the  witchery  of  the  sea  on 
all  they  feel  and  all  they  do. 

This  is  the  charm  which  the  Architecture 
of  Venice  derives  from  the  sea.  How  far 
Venetian  Painting  was  influenced  by  the 
position  of  Venice  on  the  sea,  what  charm 
it  derived  from  the  life  of  the  sea,  and  how 
far  the  sea  was  the  subject  of  the  artists, 
is  now  the  question.  It  is  not  easy  to 
answer  it,  for  the  influence  of  the  sea- 
position  was  not  direct  but  indirect.  It  did 
80 


The  Sea-Charm  of  Venice 

not  make  the  painters  of  Venice  desire  to 
paint  the  sea  or  to  care  for  it  as  our  modern 
temper  does,  but  it  created,  I  think,  a  cer- 
tain spiritual  or  imaginative  influence  in 
their  soul,  other  than  that  produced  by  the 
landscape  of  the  land,  which,  it  may  be 
quite  unconsciously,  entered  into  their  art- 
work and  had  power  over  it. 

The  landscape  that  Cima,  Basaiti,  Gio- 
vanni Bellini,  Catena,  loved  and  painted,  that 
Giorgione,  Bonifazio,  and  Veronese  placed 
in  the  distance  of  their  pictures,  was  that 
of  the  mainland,  of  the  spurs  of  the  hills  as 
they  dipped  into  the  Lombard  plain,  of  the 
lovely  network  of  rock  and  plain,  river  and 
woodland,  of  scattered  castles  and  of  white 
towns  on  the  hilltops,  which  one  sees  from 
the  heights  of  Verona.  On  the  other  hand, 
Titian  painted  the  landscape  of  his  native 
land,  where  the  torrent  comes  down  through 
the  massive  chestnuts  of  Cadore ;  where 
the  gray  limestone  peaks  leap  upwards 
thousands  of  feet,  and  follow  one  another, 
G  81 


The  Sea-Charm  of  Venice 

like  the  waves  of  the  sea  in  the  tempest; 
and  the  huge  boulders,  ablaze  with  coloured 
lichen  lie  like  resting  beasts  on  the  short 
sweet  grass  in  the  green  shade  of  walnut 
trees,  and  the  rude  farmhouses  stand  beside 
the  groves  of  oak  and  beech.  These  were 
his  delight,  but  the  sea  is  not  in  his  work 
nor  in  that  of  his  fellows. 

What  does  touch  the  sea  in  their  pictures 
are  the  skies  they  painted  above  this  inland 
landscape.  Their  freedom,  their  diffused 
softness,  their  lofty  arch,  their  bright  and 
vast  expanse,  their  lucid  atmosphere,  their 
silver  subtlety,  and  their  involved  and 
mighty  storm-clouds,  are  the  creation  of 
the  wide  and  moving  sea.  Carpaccio  and 
Catena  paint  the  pale  and  trembling  azure 
above  the  afternoon  on  the  seacoast.  Gior- 
gione  has  recorded  the  dark  purple  thunder- 
clouds which  climb  with  eager  speed  from 
the  horizon  of  the  sea  to  threaten  the  works 
of  men.  Cima  of  Conegliano  paints  the 
clustered  flocks  of  white  cloudlets  in  a  clear 
82 


The  Sea-Charm  of  Venice 

pale  sky  which  are  common  in  the  Venetian 
heavens,  and  which  are  born  of  the  sea. 
Veronese  paints  the  pure,  cloudless,  deep 
blue  sky  swept  clean  by  the  sea-wind,  and 
under  which  the  sea  is  radiant.  In  other 
pictures  he  paints  a  sky  often  seen  over  the 
Adriatic.  It  is  indeed  a  seaside  sky — blue 
with  flat  white  stratus  across  the  blue,  calm, 
and  trembling  with  reflections  cast  up  from 
the  sea.  But  Titian  stands  apart.  His  skies 
are  of  his  own  mountain  valley.  The  splen- 
dours of  the  mountain  rain,  the  whirling  of 
the  mountain-clouds  belong  to  him  alone. 

The  "  softness  and  freedom,"  so  char- 
acteristic of  the  art  of  the  great  Venetian 
colourists  that  the  phrase  has  almost  passed 
into  a  proverb,  did  not  belong  to  the  earlier 
schools  of  Venice.  These  qualities  came  into 
her  art  with  the  advent  of  the  New  Learn- 
ing, which  reached  Venice  even  earlier  than 
it  reached  Florence,  though  it  was  less  de- 
veloped there  than  in  Florence.  As  to  free- 
dom, the  Spirit  of  the  Renaissance  set  free 

83 


The  Sea-Charm  of  Venice 

the  imagination  of  the  artists,  and  kindled 
in  them  a  more  vivid  interest  in  humanity, 
even  in  natm-al  scenery.  The  intellectual 
freedom  it  brought  belonged  to  every  city 
which  it  touched.  It  belonged  above  all  to 
Venice.  The  spirit  of  a  sea-people  is  by 
nature  more  free  than  the  spirit  of  the 
people  of  the  plains.  It  is  as  free  as  the 
spirit  of  a  mountain  folk.  And  such  a  spirit 
entered  into  the  painting  of  the  artists  of 
Venice,  as  it  did  into  the  life  of  its  citizens. 
They  painted  with  more  boldness,  original- 
ity and  fire  than  the  inland  schools.  The 
passion  of  the  various,  even  of  the  reckless, 
sea  was  in  their  heart.  And  this  passion 
was  in  tune  with  the  intellectual  freedom 
the  New  Learning  brought  to  Venice. 

As  to  the  softness  which  distinguished 
the  Venetians,  it  was  chiefly  shown  in  a 
passion  for  various,  noble,  and  harmonized 
colour,  suffused,  even  to  its  darkest  shadow, 
with  soft  and  glowing  light.  And  Venice 
was  already,  from  its  eastern  associations, 
84 


The  Sea-Charm  of  Venice 

the  lover  of  rich  colour,  softly  gradated,  in 
buildings,  boats,  and  dress.  And  then,  be- 
yond this,  the  colour  of  its  seas  and  skies, 
as  indeed  always  near  the  southern  coasts, 
was  tender,  subtle,  delicate  alike  when  it 
was  strong  or  evanescent,  soft  as  a  child's 
cheek  in  slumber,  but  always  glowing.  Day 
by  day,  this  warm  softness  of  colour  was 
instilled  into  the  artists  and  nourished  by 
the  sea-nature  of  the  place.  It  was  a  spirit 
in  their  pallet  and  their  pencil. 

The  capacity  for  receiving  such  an  im- 
pression was  strengthened  by  the  circum- 
stances under  which  it  was  received.  There 
is  no  place  where  the  reception  of  the  ele- 
ments of  beauty  derived  from  Nature  is  so 
easy,  undistracted,  and  uninterrupted  as 
in  Venice.  Gliding  in  a  gondola  is  very 
different  from  riding,  driving,  or  walking. 
It  ministers  to  receptivity. 

Then  there  is  the  deep  silence  of  the 
lagoon,  in  which  the  spirit  of  Nature  most 
speaks  to  man,  not  only  by  night  but  by 


The  Sea-Charm  of  Venice 

day.  We  may  be  as  quiet  on  the  Venetian 
lagoons — with  all  the  sense  of  sight  open 
to  receive,  with  the  soul  undisturbed  by  the 
challenge  of  human  sounds — as  we  should 
be  in  the  heart  of  a  Highland  glen.  All  that 
Nature  displays  of  colour,  form,  or  fancy ; 
her  mystery,  her  wild  or  mocking  charm, 
her  solemn  silence  fraught  with  thought — 
sinks  deep  into  the  heart  when  sunrise  or 
sunset  or  starlight  find  us  far  out  on  the 
lagoon.  A  whole  boatful  of  gay  people  are 
hushed  as  by  a  spell.  This  ease,  then,  in  the 
reception  of  impressions  on  the  senses,  the 
quietude  in  which  they  are  received,  the 
soft  magic  in  the  quietude,  the  freedom  of 
the  waters,  filled  the  soul  of  the  Venetian 
artists,  and  made,  as  it  were,  the  atmo- 
sphere which  their  art  breathed,  and  the 
inner  spirit  of  their  pictures.  It  was  one  of 
the  forces  which  made  their  work  not  only 
softer  and  freer,  but  more  vivid  and  passion- 
ate than  that  of  any  other  school  in  Italy. 
Again,  every  one  knows  that  the  Venetian 
86 


The  Sea-Charm  of  Venice 

painters  brought  colour  to  a  greater  perfec- 
tion than  it  attained  elsewhere.  It  came  to 
them  from  the  lavish  colouring  of  the  city 
of  which  I  have  already  written,  from  the 
gorgeousness  of  the  pageants,  but  chiefly 
from  the  natural  scenery  of  their  home.  It  is 
true,  they  painted  man  rather  than  Nature. 
But  they  felt  her  loveliness,  and  the  deepest 
impression  they  received  from  her  daily  work 
was  of  the  glory  and  ravishment,  glow  and 
depth  of  colour,  varied  from  the  most  deli- 
cate to  the  most  sombre  hues  in  sea  and 
sky  and  along  the  distant  range  of  Alpine 
summits.  In  the  city  itself,  from  canal  to 
canal,  all  the  shadows  are  transfused  with 
a  glimmer  of  blue  light,  or  full  of  crimson 
and  green  fire.  It  is  the  presence  and  power 
of  the  water  which  produces  this.  Over  the 
sea,  the  blue  of  the  waters  is  like  that  of 
the  sapphire  throne  Ezekiel  saw  above  the 
terrible  crystal  of  the  firmament.  It  is  not 
terrible  here,  but  deep  and  tender;  and, 
when   storm  is    at  hand,  of   a   purple  so 

87 


The  Sea-Charm  of  Venice 

solemn  that  Tintoret  often  uses  it  for  the 
garments  of  those  in  tragic  sorrow.  But  it 
was  chiefly  on  the  lagoon  that  the  artists 
saw  the  richest  and  softest  colour.  In  sub- 
dued sunlight,  such  as  is  frequent  in  the 
haze  of  the  sea,  the  soft  silvery,  pearly 
grays  vary  infinitely  over  the  smooth  waters. 
In  fresher  and  brighter  days  when  the  wind 
brings  the  flying  clouds,  the  colour  is  that 
which  is  native  to  a  sea-atmosphere,  often 
clear,  often  thrilling  through  veils  of  ruby, 
sapphire,  and  emerald  vapour,  steeped  al- 
ways in  the  diffused  light  which  is  felt, 
like  joy,  over  wide  spaces  of  water,  and 
under  a  vast  expanse  of  sky.  To  these  con- 
stant impressions  we  owe  in  part  the  extra- 
ordinary luminousness,  glow,  interfusion, 
subtlety,  tenderness,  splendour  in  height 
and  depth  of  colour  in  the  pictures  of  the 
great  Venetians. 

Another  characteristic  of  Venetian  paint- 
ing is  also  derived  from  the  charming  of 
the  sea.   It  is  the  intense  glow  of  the  flesh 
88 


The  Sea-Charm  of  Venice 

colour.  The  deep  warmth  and  ruddy  hght 
which  seem  to  come  from  within  the  body 
to  the  skin  in  the  figures  of  these  painters, 
were  studied  direct  from  Nature.  It  is  the 
colour  of  the  naked  body  of  the  Venetian 
fishers  to  this  day.  And  nothing  that  I 
know  of  produces  it  but  the  influence  of 
the  sea-winds  combined  with  sunlight,  and 
of  the  sunlight  reflected  from  the  waters  in 
a  soft  and  gracious  climate.  We  may  see 
something  like  this  colour,  in  its  coarse 
extreme,  in  the  faces  and  hands  of  the  boat- 
men on  our  coasts.  Sea  and  sun  have  there 
worked  with  a  fierce  and  racking  climate  to 
produce  the  colour,  but  to  destroy  its  beauty 
by  destroying  the  texture  of  the  skin.  But, 
at  Venice,  these  natural  forces  work  in  a 
climate  which  does  not  injure  the  skin;  and 
they  overlay  its  surface  with  a  glow  of  red 
and  golden  colour  which  is  one  of  the  love- 
liest hues  in  the  world,  and  has  the  special 
qualities  of  depth  and  life,  even  of  a  certain 
passion. 

89 


The  Sea-Charm  of  Venice 

There  is  more  opportunity  in  Venice  for 
its  formation  than  in  other  southern  sea- 
ports. All  through  the  summer  and  autumn 
the  Venetian  youths  of  the  people  spend 
their  time  all  but  naked  in  the  water.  They 
walk,  ankle-deep,  over  the  shallows  of  the 
lagoons,  fishing  for  sea-plunder.  The  men 
work  on  the  embankments  only  in  their 
shirts.  Half  their  life  they  are  practically 
naked ; — and  to  look  at  one  of  these  young 
Venetian  fishers,  standing  in  the  blaze  of 
the  sun,  with  the  greenish  water  glistening 
round  him,  its  reflections  playing  on  his 
glowing  limbs,  and  all  his  body  flaming  soft 
as  from  an  inward  fire — is  to  see  the  very 
thing  which  Giorgione  painted  on  the  walls 
of  palaces,  which  Bellini  and  Giorgione 
handed  on  to  their  followers,  which  Titian 
and  Tintoret  laid  on  their  canvas  and 
emblazoned  in  their  fresco.  They  worked 
into  their  painting  of  the  human  body 
what  they  saw  every  day,  and  other  schools 
of  art  did  not  attain  the  glory  of  flesh- 
90 


The  Sea-Charm  of  Venice 

colour  Venice  attained,  because  they  did 
not  see  it. 

The  naked  body  of  the  Bacchus  of  Tin- 
toret,  who  comes  wading  through  the  lagoon 
water  to  meet  Ariadne,  is  differently,  but 
as  richly  and  nobly,  coloured  as  that  of  the 
Bacchus  of  Titian  in  the  National  Gallery. 
Eeflections  from  the  water  glow  and  quiver 
on  his  limbs.  He  is  truly  a  creature  of  dew 
and  fire.  There  is  a  young  and  naked  St. 
Sebastian  by  Titian  at  the  Salute  which 
might  stand  for  one  of  the  fishers  of  the 
lagoon.  His  long  wet  hair  streams  dark  on 
his  shoulders.  In  his  face  is  all  the  freedom 
of  the  sea,  and  the  soft  warm  rich  glow  of 
his  body  and  limbs  is  indescribable.  He  is 
not  St.  Sebastian,  but  one  of  the  gods  of 
the  peaceful  sea. 

When  Giovanni  Bellini  painted  the  naked 
body,  there  is  nothing  better  in  colour  in 
the  whole  world.  In  San  Grisostomo  the 
Saint  sits  in  front  of  the  bending  stem  of  a 
great  fig  tree,  on  which  he  rests  his  book. 

91 


The  Sea-Charm  of  Venice 

His  white  beard  flows  down  over  his  breast. 
Bellini's  certainty,  firmness,  enduringness 
of  colour,  are  here  at  their  very  best.  The 
glow  and  subdued  flaming  of  the  flesh, 
varied  from  point  to  point  with  an  exquisite 
joy  in  the  work,  is  beautiful  beyond  all 
praise.  The  glow  of  Giorgione's  flesh-colour 
is  as  deep,  but  thrilled  through  with  a 
greater  softness.  In  Tintoret's  hands  the 
flesh-colour  became  more  sombre,  and  in 
the  faces  of  his  many  portraits  had  a  curious 
dignity,  as  if,  I  have  often  thought,  the 
royalty  of  the  Sun  had  entered  into  it. 

With  his  women,  a  difference  arose.  At 
first  he  painted  them  in  the  full  Venetian 
manner.  But  afterwards,  with  his  impati- 
ence of  monotony  or  repetition,  he  changed 
the  type.  It  alters  from  the  full,  opulent, 
rose-coloured  women  of  Titian,  Palma,  Vero- 
nese, to  a  lithe,  lissome,  tall,  rather  thin 
woman,  alive  with  youthful  energy  of  fire, 
of  the  most  gracious  and  subtle  curves,  ex- 
quisitely made,  with  a  small  head  and  lovely. 
92 


The  Sea-Charm  of  Venice 

face.  With  his  invention  of  this  type,  he  in- 
vented a  new  method  of  colouring,  marked 
by  a  temperance  in  its  use  and  glow  which 
is  strange  in  one  so  often  accused,  and 
sometimes  guilty,  of  intemperance.  He  sent 
across  the  naked  body  alternate  shafts  of 
sunlight  and  of  shade,  and  amused  himself 
by  painting  the  colour  of  flesh  under  these 
varied  conditions.  The  result — since  in  all 
the  shadow  as  in  the  light  there  was  colour, 
and  colour  at  its  subtlest — is  the  loveliest, 
freest,  and  most  delightful  thing  in  Vene- 
tian art.  "  The  Graces  "  in  the  Ducal  Palace 
are  an  example  of  this.  Any  one  can  see 
another  example  in  the  picture  of  the 
"  Origin  of  the  Milky  Way  "  in  the  National 
Gallery.  It  may  be  only  a  fancy  of  mine, 
but  I  cannot  help  thinking  that  Tintoret 
had  seen  such  girls  bathing  from  the  Lido 
on  days  when  the  sunlight  was  broken  over 
the  sea  by  racing  clouds.  There  is  a 
freshness,  an  open-air  purity  and  light 
in  these  images  of  his  which  it  pleases  me 

93 


The  Sea-Charm  of  Venice 

to  think  wonld  be  absent  if  these  lovely 
bodies  had  been  painted  in  the  rooms  of 
palaces  or  in  their  gardens.  The  winds  of 
heaven  appear  to  blow  around  them  from 
the  unencumbered  sea.  The  light  of  an 
ocean  sky,  the  dance  of  reflected  light  from 
moving  water  seem  to  play  upon  them. 

Again,  the  Venetian  painters  saw  day  by 
day  the  human  body  in  graceful  and  inces- 
santly changing  movement,  and  the  charm 
of  it  was  derived  from  the  sea-life  of  Venice. 
There  are  few  attitudes  and  movements  in 
any  human  work  more  graceful  than  those 
of  the  single  rower  of  a  gondola.  He  is  so 
placed,  and  his  peculiar  method  of  rowing 
is  such,  that  his  labour  educates  him  in 
lovely  movement,  and  of  movement  alter- 
ing almost  at  every  instant  to  meet  new 
circumstances.  He  is  unable  to  take  an 
awkward  attitude.  If  he  does,  so  lightly 
poised  is  he,  he  is  tossed  out  of  the  boat; 
and  it  is  only,  I  believe,  because  the  atti- 
tudes are  so  various,  so  momentary,  so  hard 
94 


The  Sea-Charm  of  Venice 

to  see  before  they  change,  that  sculptors 
have  not  reproduced  them.  It  is  plain  that 
this  incessantly  beautiful  movement  of  the 
human  body  had  a  great  influence  on  the 
painters  of  Venice.  Their  eye  was  uncon- 
sciously trained  from  youth  to  realize  the 
body  of  man  in  lovely  poise  and  change. 

Their  eye  was  also  trained  to  realize  the 
aspect  of  stately,  grave,  and  reverent  sig- 
niors  and  merchants  in  the  rich  robes  of 
the  days  of  pageants;  or  in  the  quiet  robes 
of  councillors  and  citizens;  and  there  are 
no  more  noble,  dignified  representations  of 
men  of  honour,  weight,  and  civic  business, 
than  those  made  by  the  Venetian  artists. 
The  only  way  in  which  this  view  of  their 
art  can  be  connected  with  the  sea  is  that, 
owing  to  the  commerce  of  Venice  on  every 
sea,  there  existed  in  the  town  a  wise,  wealthy, 
honoured  middle  class,  different  from  the 
middle  class  in  the  other  sea-towns  of  Italy, 
having  worthy  connections  with  the  East, 
and  sharing  in  a  greater  degree  than  else- 

95 


The  Sea-Charm  of  Venice 

where  in  the  government  and  culture  of  the 
city. 

Moreover,  the  wonderful  splendour  of  the 
pageants  and  triumphs  of  the  town,  most 
of  which  were  bound  up  with  the  sea,  en- 
abled painters  like  Gentile  Bellini,  Carpac- 
cio,  and  Veronese,  to  display  in  decorative 
art  the  most  gorgeous  colour  in  dress  and 
festive  show.  The  processions  in  Venice, 
the  festal  days  at  the  Salute  and  the  Ee- 
dentore,  the  marriage  of  Venice  to  the  sea, 
were  a  varied  blaze  of  radiant  colour. 

Finally,  on  this  matter  of  painting,  there 
are  very  few  direct  representations  of  sea- 
scenery  in  Venetian  art.  I  have  said  that 
Titian  painted  the  woods,  rocks,  and  moun- 
tains of  his  native  Cadore.  Once  only,  if  I  re- 
member rightly,  he  drew  the  lagoon  and  the 
plain  below  the  Alps,  and  Antelao  above  the 
mist,  soaring  as  if  it  would  pierce  the  very 
rampart  of  heaven.  Every  day  and  even- 
ing he  saw,  from  his  garden  at  Casa  Grande, 
the  lagoon  near  San  Michele  filled  with 
96 


The  Sea-Charm  of  Venice 

joyous  gondolas  and  alive  with  light  and 
colour,  but  it  never  occurred  to  him  to 
paint  it.  The  mountain  valleys,  their  groves 
and  torrents  were  his  home.  They  did  not 
permit  him,  in  their  jealousy,  to  perceive 
the  sea. 

Only  one  among  the  greater  Venetian 
painters  seems  to  have  cared  at  all,  and 
that  very  little,  for  the  sea  in  the  lagoons 
— and  he  lived  all  his  life  in  Venice.  This 
was  Tintoret.  Sometimes,  as  in  one  of  the 
Halls  of  the  Ducal  Palace,  the  background 
of  his  picture  is  made  by  the  green  waves  of 
the  lagoon  beating  on  its  scattered  islands, 
or  in  another  picture  by  the  glittering  sur- 
face of  its  water  with  the  boats  crimson  in 
the  sunlight.  The  green  sea  of  the  lagoon, 
prankt  with  flitting  azures,  soft,  and  shot 
with  changing  hues,  is  painted  by  him  with 
a  rapturous  pleasure  in  his  picture  of  Bac- 
chus and  Ariadne.  A  sea-going  ship  with 
its  sails  set  is  making  its  way,  behind  the 
figures,  out  to  Malamocco.  There  is  a  pic- 
H  97 


The  Sea-Charm  of  Venice 

ture  of  his  in  Santa  Maria  Zobenigo  where 
St.  Justina  and  Augustine  are  kneeling  on 
the  seashore,  and  the  gray-blue  lagoon,  in 
short  leaping  waves,  is  enriched  by  the 
scarlet  sail  of  a  Venetian  bark.  The  sea 
in  the  St,  George  in  the  National  Gallery 
breaks  in  low  waves  of  bluish  green,  edged 
with  foam,  gloomy  under  a  dark  sky,  upon 
a  desolate  coast.  It  is  as  like  the  water  of 
the  lagoon  when  storm  is  drawing  near 
as  it  can  be  painted.  Then  he  painted  on 
the  ceiling  of  the  great  hall  in  the  Ducal 
Palace,  Venice  enthroned  as  the  Queen  of 
the  Sea.  A  huge,  globed  surge  of  oceanic 
power  and  mass  rises  at  her  feet,  and  on 
it  are  afloat  the  sea-gods  and  goddesses, 
Tritons  and  monsters  of  the  deep  who  bring 
the  gifts  of  the  sea  to  the  feet  of  the  Sea- 
Queen.  It  might  be  an  illustration  of  the 
subject  of  this  Essay,  and  it  proves  that  the 
subject  was  not  unconceived  by  Tintoret. 

Indeed,  if  the  soaring  figure,  which  in 
the  picture  of  the  Paradise  at  the  Ducal 
98 


The  Sea-Charm  of  Venice 

Palace,  rises  with  uplifted  arms  and  face 
from  the  angle  above  the  Chair  of  the  Doge 
as  he  sat  in  council,  towards  the  figure  of 
Christ  at  the  summit  of  the  canvass,  be  in 
truth,  as  some  have  conjectured,  the  Angel 
of  the  Sea,  whose  nursling  was  Venice — 
Tintoret,  setting  this  incarnation  of  the 
history  of  the  city  above  its  senate  in 
council,  among  the  saintly  host,  and  as- 
piring to  the  throne  of  God,  did  most  nobly 
and  religiously  conceive  the  sea  as  the 
mother  and  guard  and  glory  of  Venice. 

But  more  remarkable  than  these  few 
reminiscences  of  the  sea  were  the  skies 
which  Tintoret  painted  from  those  he  saw 
over  the  sea  and  the  lagoon.  Sometimes 
the  sky  is  pure,  but  the  blue  is  full  of  white 
light,  such  as  the  sea  mists  make  when  they 
rise  into  the  heaven.  Sometimes  his  sky  is 
full  of  dark  gray  cloud,  threatening  ruin 
or  heavy  sorrow.  When  Christ  descends 
through  the  sky  to  welcome  his  martyrs  or 
answer  the  prayers  of  Venice,  he  bursts 

99 


The  Sea-Charm  of  Venice 

through  the  clouds  as  through  a  sea,  and 
they  ripple  away  from  Him  in  rosy  con- 
centric circles.   It  is  an  effect  he  may  have 
seen   from  a  seashore,  but   not  on  land. 
But,  chiefly,  with  his  stormy  and  stern  na- 
ture, Tintoret — who  had  seen  the  skies  of 
Venice  when  the  tempest  had  come  in  from 
the  sea — filled  his  heaven,  especially  when 
he  paints  the  tragedies  of  earth,  with  the 
heavy  bars  of  purple,  mingled  with  angry 
gold  which  I  have  often  seen  after  a  thun- 
derstorm at  Venice,  descending  like  stairs 
from  the  zenith  to  the  horizon.   And  once 
at  least,  below  the  clouds,  he  has  painted 
the  lagoon,  black  and  tortured  by  the  wind. 
I  have  said  nothing  of  Canaletto  or  of 
Guardi.    They  seem  to  belong  to  another 
world  than  that   of   the   great  Venetians. 
But  it  would  be  uncourteous  to  omit  them. 
Canaletto,  or  II  Canale,  was  really  fond  of 
the  waters  of  Venice,  much  fonder  of  them 
than  his  predecessors  were;  and  when  he 
painted   the   long   reaches    of    the   Grand 
100 


The  Sea-Charm  of  Venice 

Canal,  he  managed  to  represent  one  aspect 
at  least  of  that  wonderful  sea-street,  when 
under  a  faint  wind  it  trembles  into  multi- 
tudinous small  curving  ripples  that  anni- 
hilate all  reflections.  He  does  not  often 
vary  from  this,  and  when  he  varies  he  does 
not  succeed  so  well.  But  he  painted  the 
buildings  with  a  real  desire  to  impress  us 
with  their  nobility  and  largeness  of  design, 
with  no  special  care  for  accuracy  of  detail, 
but  with  great  care  to  give  fully  a  sense  of 
their  splendour  of  situation  and  of  archi- 
tecture. And  he  drew  over  the  scene — and 
this  he  did  excellently — a  clear,  pure,  lu- 
minous, tenderly  gradated,  but  rather  hard 
atmosphere,  in  which  the  buildings  were 
frankly  visible,  and  the  waters  almost  aus- 
tere. The  pictures  are  so  decorative  that 
many  of  them  tend  to  weary  the  eyes,  and 
we  turn  with  some  relief  to  those  other 
pictures  of  his  in  which  the  sky  is  dark, 
and  a  more  grave  and  homelier  representa- 
tion is  made  of  the  Venice  of  his  time.    I 

101 

LIBRARY 

UNIVERSITY  Cr-  CALIFORNIA 

RIVERSIDE 


The  Sea-Charm  of  Venice 

have  not  seen  any  pictures  by  him  of  the 
lagoons.  But  I  have  seen  a  set  of  drawings 
of  the  islands  in  the  lagoon  done  in  Indian 
ink,  which  in  their  slight  and  careless 
drawing  pleased  me  because  he  seemed  to 
love  what  he  was  doing,  and  to  feel  deli- 
cately the  magical  reflectiveness  and  charm 
of  the  waters  of  the  lagoon. 

Guardi  cares  more  than  II  Canale  for  the 
waters  of  Venice.  He  did  his  best  to  repre- 
sent their  lovely  trembling  in  the  light, 
and  the  images  they  made  in  their  mirror 
of  the  buildings  above  them  and  of  the  life 
which  moves  upon  them.  It  is  easy,  when 
one  does  not  require  the  best,  to  admire, 
even  to  have  a  special  liking  for,  his  pic- 
tures. As  to  what  the  moderns  have  done 
for  the  Venetian  waters,  what  the  sea- 
charm  of  the  city  has  impelled  on  their 
canvas — it  would  requu-e  an  essay  as  long 
as  this  to  tell  the  tale  of  it. 

These  things,  with  regard  to  Venetian 
102 


The  Sea-Charm  of  Venice 

painting,  are  part  of  the  charm  which  the 
sea  exercised  on  the  artists.  One  other 
charm  is  also  derived  from  the  sea.  The 
sea  and  its  life  have  largely  made  the 
character  of  the  Venetian  people.  That  is 
too  great  a  matter  to  discuss  fully,  but  if 
those  who  visit  Venice  will  make  friends 
with  the  fisher  people,  they  will  soon  dis- 
cover the  historical  character  of  the  Vene- 
tian people  as  distinguished  from  the  upper 
classes.  It  is  salted  with  the  nature  of  the 
sea.  A  wild,  free,  open,  dashing,  quiet  and 
tempestuous  character,  too  much  the  sport 
of  circumstance  and  impulse,  yet  capable  of 
a  steady  exercise  of  power  when  it  loves  or 
desires  greatly — it  is  the  human  image  of 
the  sea  on  which  they  live.  It  is  one  of  the 
pleasantest  charms  of  Venice  to  know  it, 
and  be  friends  with  it. 

It  is  always  a  romantic  character,  and 
the  sea  has  always  fathered  its  romance. 
The  history  of  the  city,  legendary  and  ac- 
tual, is  steeped  in  the  romance  of  the  sea. 

103 


The  Sea-Charm  of  Venice 

Wherever  we  wander  through  the  town,  in 
the  churches,  by  the  monuments,  squares, 
bridges  and  quays,  among  the  islands  in 
the  lagoon,  on  the  sea-beaten  sand  of  the 
Lido,  when  we  hear  the  beat  of  the  ham- 
mers in  the  Arsenal,  in  the  very  names  of 
the  streets — we  meet  the  sea,  and  stories 
of  the  sea,  and  have  all  the  pleasure  and 
charm  a  boy  has  when  he  reads  of  ocean 
adventure,  and  feels  on  his  cheek  the  salt 
wind  from  the  sea.  I  will  only  take  one 
well-known  example.  Walking  in  the  neigh- 
bourhood of  the  Church  of  Santa  Maria 
Formosa,  I  happened  to  look  up  to  the  name 
of  the  street.  It  was  called  after  the  guild 
of  workers  who  made  the  bridal  chests  and 
jewel  boxes  for  the  Venetian  maidens.  It 
was  here  they  lived  and  wrought.  But  they 
were  not  only  workmen,  but  sailors  trained 
for  war.  And  as  I  saw  the  name,  I  remem- 
bered the  story  of  the  brides  of  Venice, 
twelve  of  whom  were  each  year,  on  the 
Feast  of  the  Purification,  dowered  by  the 
104 


The  Sea-Charm  of  Venice 

State.  It  happened  one  year  that  pirates 
from  Trieste,  knowing  this  custom,  stole  in 
at  night  to  the  Island  of  San  Pietro  di 
Castello,  and  hid  in  the  low  bushes  near 
the  water.  When  the  brides,  carrying  their 
boxes  of  gems  and  money,  were  among  the 
peaceful  throng  in  the  Church,  these  bold 
bad  men  seized  them  and  bore  them  away 
to  the  port  of  Caorle,  and  there,  landing 
with  the  spoil,  lit  their  fires  and  took  to 
feasting.  All  Venice  rose  to  pursue  them, 
but  the  Chest  and  Box-Makers  were  the 
first,  with  that  fierce  swiftness  which  be- 
longed to  Venetian  war,  to  take  to  their 
boats  and  pursue  the  ravishers ;  and  out- 
sailing all  the  rest,  rescued  the  damsels  and 
slew  the  villains  as  they  were  drinking 
round  their  fires.  Eeturning  with  the  rest, 
the  Doge  Candiano  asked  them  what  reward 
they  would  have  from  the  State — and  they 
answered:  "  Only  that  the  Doge  should  visit 
in  procession  their  Church  of  Santa  Maria 
Formosa  on  the  anniversary  of  the  Day  of 

105 


The  Sea-Charm  of  Venice 

the  Brides."  Everywhere  in  the  city  such 
romantic  stories  spring  up  from  church  and 
square,  palace  and  bridge;  and  their  his- 
torical charm  is  born  of  the  sea. 

In  conclusion,  I  may  write  a  little  word 
on  the  sensational  charm  of  Venice  seated 
in  the  hearing  of  the  sea  waves,  and  adorned 
for  worship  by  the  beauty  of  her  water- 
world.  The  word  sensational  here  brings 
no  reproach;  it  only  means  that  the  vivid 
impressions  made  on  the  senses  are  more 
numerous,  varied,  and  intense  in  Venice 
than  elsewhere.  Each  of  them  is  accom- 
panied with  a  spiritual  passion  as  intense 
as  the  sensible  impression.  The  imagina- 
tion is  incessantly  kindled  into  creation  by 
what  it  sees. 

I  will  bring  together,  to  illustrate  this, 
what  I  saw  in  one  day  when  I  went  to 
Torcello.  We  started  early,  on  a  lovely 
morning.  As  we  rounded  the  angle  of  Mu- 
rano  we  saw  far  away,  and  filling  the  line 
of  the  horizon,  the  rare  vision  of  the  peaks 
106 


The  Sea-Charm  of  Venice 

of  the  Dolomites.  Snow  lay  on  them,  but 
snow  transfigured  by  distance  into  ethereal 
light.  Fine  bars  of  vapour  lay  across  them, 
floating  free,  as  if  they  were  the  battlements 
of  fairyland.  Below,  their  buttresses  and 
flanks  fell  into  the  plain,  blue  as  the  heaven 
above  them.  Seen  thus,  across  the  dazzling 
lagoon,  they  made  that  impression  of  far- 
ness  and  mystery,  of  a  land  of  enchanting 
secrets,  of  ethereal  hope  taking  ethereal 
form,  which  is  part  of  the  magic  which 
rises  like  a  wizard  vapour  from  the  lagoons. 
The  mountain  glory  is  transfigured  into  a 
spiritual  glory,  and  the  soul  loses  its  con- 
scious life  in  a  drift  of  dreams. 

Then,  through  the  winding  of  the  dark 
piles,  through  the  shallows  haunted  by  sea 
birds,  we  came  to  Torcello.  Torcello  has 
been  described  by  a  master  hand,  and  I  will 
not  follow  him;  but  when  we  had  visited 
the  well  known  places  we  went  down  along 
the  banks  to  the  large  arm  of  the  sea  be- 
side the  island.    There  was  not  a  sound, 

107 


The  Sea-Charm  of  Venice 

save  the  cry  of  a  scythe  in  the  coarse 
reeds,  as  we  sat  on  the  flowery  grass.  The 
place  was  once  full  of  human  life,  of  wealth, 
and  labour;  it  was  now  the  very  home  of 
desolation.  Deep  sadness — the  sense  of  all 
the  might  and  splendour  of  the  earth  pass- 
ing away  into  the  elements,  of  nature  only 
living,  and  living  in  regret — filled  the  heart. 
And  the  sensation  was  as  different  from  that 
with  which  we  had  begun  the  day,  as  the 
glory  of  the  mountains  was  from  the  wild 
sea-marsh  where  we  sat,  and  the  sorrowful 
salt  water  stealing  by. 

We  left  Torcello  and  went  on  to  Burano, 
a  small  island  about  a  mile  from  Torcello. 
The  men  are  fishers,  the  women  lacemakers. 
A  few  canals  traverse  it,  and  it  has  a  large 
population.  It  belongs  to  itself  alone,  and 
the  indwellers  have  kept  their  distinct  type 
for  centuries.  For  centuries  they  have  been 
poor,  rough,  and  helpful  to  one  another.  A 
British  working  man  would  think  their  life 
starvation.  It  is  an  austere  struggle  for 
108 


The  Sea-Charm  of  Venice 

existence;  but  on  the  day  I  went  to  see  them 
they  had  a  festa.  Baldassare  Galuppi,  whom 
Browning  celebrated,  was  a  native  of  the 
island,  and  this  was  his  centenary.  To  honour 
this  half-genius  all  the  inhabitants  cheer- 
fully struck  work,  and  turned  out  in  their 
best  array.  The  canals,  the  streets,  were 
crowded;  the  market-place  was  full  of  booths 
and  rejoicing  folk.  In  the  church  the 
preacher  was  improving  the  occasion.  A 
local  poet  had  written  a  sonnet  on  Galuppi, 
and  it  was  hung  up  at  the  corner  of  every 
street.  Illustrated  broadsheets  with  Gal- 
uppi's  portrait  and  his  life  were  sold  on 
every  stall;  the  men  and  women  were  sing- 
ing snatches  from  his  music.  A  cripple,  on 
gigantic  crutches,  seized  hold  of  me  and 
carried  me  off  to  the  Municipio  to  show  me 
the  musician's  bust,  as  excited  as  the  rest 
of  the  crowd  to  celebrate  the  artist  of  their 
town.  We  forgot  the  mountains,  we  forgot 
Torcello,  in  the  gaiety,  brightness,  good 
humour,  and  artistic  excitement  of  human- 

109 


The  Sea-Charm  of  Venice 

ity.  Nothing  can  well  be  more  wretchedly 
poor  than  the  life  of  these  hard-working 
people,  and  yet,  to  celebrate  one  dead  for  a 
hundred  years,  every  memory  of  their 
misery  perished  in  pleasant  joy. 

When  we  left  Burano  we  rowed  on  an- 
other mile  to  visit  the  Island  of  St.  Francis 
in  the  Desert.  Ever  since  the  fourteenth 
century,  with  a  few  intervals,  it  has  been 
held  by  the  Franciscans.  A  marble  wall 
surrounds  the  tiny  island,  a  marble  pave- 
ment leads  up  to  the  small  convent  with  its 
church  and  garden.  Cypresses  and  tall 
poplars  stand  in  the  garden,  and  one  stone 
pine  looks  out  from  the  corner  of  the  wall 
over  the  waste  lagoon.  It  is  a  solitary  and 
lovely  place,  like  an  island  in  the  sea  of 
the  world. 

We  found  service  going  on;  the  little  bell 
was  ringing,  and  we  knelt  among  the  monks. 
All  the  spirit  of  the  silence,  of  the  peace  of 
obedience,  chastity,  and  poverty,  of  the 
love  that  ruled  St.  Francis,  fell  upon  us. 
110 


The  Sea-Charm  of  Venice 

The  depth  of  the  religious  life  was  here.  I 
looked  up  as  I  knelt,  and  saw,  rudely  painted 
on  the  wall,  the  charming  legend  of  the  place 
— how  St.  Francis,  returning  from  the  East, 
took  boat  at  Venice  to  reach  the  mainland, 
and  as  night  fell  was  drifted  to  this  island, 
slept,  and  woke  in  the  morning  among  the 
low  bushes  which  clothed  its  shore.  And  as 
the  sun  rose  he  began  to  chant  the  Matins. 
But  who,  said  he,  will  sing  the  responses? 
At  which  all  the  little  birds  came  flocking 
into  the  bushes,  and  when  he  paused  sang 
the  responses  for  him.'  And  Francis,  re- 
joicing, struck  his  stafif  into  the  ground, 
and  it  became  a  tree  where  the  birds  had 
plenteous  shelter.  Part  of  the  trunk  of  that 
tree  is  still  kept  in  the  cloister  — small  and 
poor,  paved  with  brick,  and  a  deep  well  in 
the  centre.  Vervain  and  roses  and  balsams 
grew  round  its  low  pillars  in  pots  of  red 
earthenware,  and  the  scent  of  them  was 

*  There  is  another  form   of  the  legend,  but  I 
prefer  this. 

Ill 


The  Sea-Charm  of  Venice 

sweet  and  solitary.  And  we  forgot  the  noise 
and  excitement  of  Burano,  and  remem- 
bered only  the  peaceful  sainthood  of  the 
world,  and  the  secret  of  obedience,  and  the 
love  of  God  to  poverty. 

When  we  left  the  island  the  sun  had 
set  over  the  Euganean  Hills,  and  again, 
as  in  the  morning,  but  of  how  different  a 
note,  a  new  impression  out  of  the  life  of 
Nature  was  made  upon  us.  We  rowed  in 
silence  through  the  teaching  of  evening. 
And  when  night  came  and  the  only  light 
was  the  light  of  stars,  the  silence  deepened 
into  mystery.  There  is  a  sense  of  the  infinite 
on  the  lagoon  at  night,  and  speech  seems 
to  break  its  spell.  It  is  half  awe,  half 
pleasure ;  the  excitement  it  brings  is  not 
for  words ;  it  is  translated  within  into 
the  language  of  the  personal  soul,  the 
tongue  which  no  one  knows  but  one's  self 
alone. 

This  was  our  day.  There  is  no  other 
place  I  know  of  where  so  many  varied  im- 
112 


The  Sea-Charm  of  Venice 

pressions  may  be  awakened  in  the  imag- 
ination. They  are  bound  up  with  the  sea 
and  their  charm  is  from  the  sea. 

This  perfect  evening  slowly  falls 
Without  a  stain,  without  a  cloud ; 
The  sun  has  set — and  all  the  bells 
Of  Venice  in  the  skies  are  loud, 

Clashing  and  chiming  far  and  near 
"  Ave  Maria,"  while  the  moon 
Large-globed  and  red,  climbs  through  the  mist 
To  loiter  o'er  the  dark  lagoon. 


113 


CHISWICK  PRESS  :    CHARLES  WHITTINGHAM  AND  CO. 
TOOKS  COURT,   CHANCERY   LANE,  LONDON. 


Date  Due 

ft  j] 

o  APR  ^  fi  1Q«« 

if 

(f 

1*1  lll'lli^ll  Jill  N,P.';„9At  f^'VERSIDE  LIBRAR 


3  1210  00645  7921 


DG67U 


"JJa" 001363  204        7 

B7 


m67ii 


B7 


Brooke,  S.A. 

TLE  — 

The  sea-charm  of  Venice. 


Brooke,  S.A. 

The  sea-charm  of  Venice, 


